


Kissing Regina Mills

by misscanteloupe



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Also kind of cracky?, Beard Free!, F/F, Fluff, Post Season 5, accidental angst, accidental smut, unconventional friends with benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscanteloupe/pseuds/misscanteloupe
Summary: “The name is just for show. It’s supposed to bring out some of your deeper desires. Spurs you to act on them,” Regina explains, even though Emma stopped paying attention several words ago.Their eyes lock, and Emma feels that same prickling sensation on the back of her neck.“Is there… anything you want to do?” Regina asks finally.It’s like a flick of a switch.(It's a late night in the vault and Emma accidentally kisses Regina Mills)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is. I started it about two weekends ago before starting another story, then moved back to this one. I'll update every week or so as I can if people like it.
> 
> No mentions of the unwanted love interests in here. One because this is fluff and there's nothing fluffy about them. Two because no one gives a shit. I certainly don't.

Emma stares into the tray of vials in front of her and wonders not for the first time how she’s even managed to get here.

 _Here_ , as in Regina’s vault in the dead of the night. Somehow, when Regina had texted her just as Emma was getting ready for bed, the words _Meet me in the vault in one hour_ didn’t quite sum up to this.

“Remind me again why I’m here,” Emma mutters. She watches as Regina pours _another_ stream of strange-looking liquid into a vial.

Regina pins her with a stern look. “Because I asked you to.”

“I get that,” Emma points out, and just sighs as the vial is added to the already growing pile. “But it’s also _oh,_ I don’t know. _Two o’clock_ in the morning. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“If I waited until tomorrow, Emma, then the world will collapse and all of Storybrooke will be destroyed.”

Emma balks at that. “Seriously?”

“Of course not,” Regina says. “But your mother was insistent on getting these done for that charity function of hers tomorrow. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Wait, wait. Are you saying that all of _this_ ,” and Emma gestures to the potions. There has to be at least fifty of them at this point, “Is for my _mom_?”

“She threatened me,” Regina says defensively.

“With what? _Babysitting_ duties?”

Regina blows out a huff. “You don’t know Snow White as well as I do, Emma. She’s a conniving fiend.”

“Right. It’s not like I spent five years of my life reading about it in a storybook,” Emma says, rolling her eyes. “So, what? Am I here to taste test?”

“The day I have you ‘taste testing’ any of my experiments is the day I get sent straight to Hell for killing you. So no.”

“You mean going to Hell wasn’t fun the first time?” Emma says wryly.

Regina shoots her a glare. “I need you here in case there’s an explosion.”

“Oh.”

“But feel free to help with the labeling. It’s all sorted by color already. The list is on the table.”

The list _is_ on the table. Emma picks it up, observing the various types of potions written out in a neat scrawl. Leave it to Regina to have perfect handwriting. The list goes from simple sleeping potions to healing draughts and luck mixtures.

“You got anything for stamina?” Emma asks, peering up from the list. “I’m five minutes away from passing out on your floor.”

Regina hums in the affirmative, if distractedly from the liquid she is carefully slipping into a flask.

“Red one to your right. Should be cloudy. Odorless.”

Emma spots the red vial immediately. She examines it, lifting it up to her nose and - she _thinks_ it’s odorless. It makes her nose itch a little, but that’s about as odorless as it can get. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, there is common sense that Emma likes to think works when faced with a bad decision.

Now isn’t that time. Not when she’s too exhausted to care.

“This one?” Emma motions to Regina, who just hums again, focused more on pouring the next batch of _whatever_ than anything Emma has to say.

So Emma shrugs and… well. Downs it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The abrupt entrance of Regina’s voice has Emma coughing over the thick liquid, and for a second she thinks she’s dying. But then Emma remembers that all of this is for charity and -

There’s nothing dangerous about charity, right?

“You said the red one,” Emma says once she’s done coughing.

“ _This one_ ,” Regina says firmly and plucks up a much _cloudier_ red vial. Lighter.

Emma’s shoulders drop. “Oh.”

Suddenly she feels stupid.

“Emma, you _idiot_ ,” Regina snaps, but she doesn’t sound angry exactly. Just… worried, in the Regina sort of way.

It makes Emma’s stomach lurch in ways she should definitely _not_ be feeling.

“What did you take?”

She hands over the vial. Emma silently regards her as Regina considers the glass, raising it up to her nose. Emma doesn’t realize she’s staring until Regina meets her gaze.

Emma’s pulse quickens. “What?”

“This is either a sleeping sedative or liquid courage,” Regina responds thoughtfully, oblivious to the unusual tension in the air.

But Emma is very much aware of it. She feels it creeping up her spine.

“Well, sleeping’s not too bad, right?” Emma says.

“Not unless you want to be knocked out for the next three days,” Regina offers, and steps closer, _still_ observing her even as she kneels in front of Emma. The proximity has Emma nervously twisting in her chair. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Emma sighs, but really she’s trying very hard not to let her gaze linger. It’s not like the soft lighting makes Regina’s face look even more attractive this close. Or anything.

“Seriously, Regina?”

“I’m not going to be responsible for a single hair that falls off your pretty blonde head. Now answer the question.”

“Two,” Emma says dryly. “Though I think that third one’s getting ready to flick me off.”

Regina’s lip twitches. “Do you feel nauseated? Dizzy? Tired?”

“Not any more than I was,” Emma replies, which is partially true anyway. “You’re overreacting. I feel fine.”

She doesn’t. She knows something is wrong.

If only Emma can get over how fucking _pretty_ Regina is.

“Okay,” Regina says, brows furrowed in confusion. “Liquid courage then?”

“I’m not feeling too courageous right now.”

“The name is just for show. It’s supposed to bring out some of your deeper desires. Spurs you to act on them,” Regina explains, even though Emma stopped paying attention several words ago.

Their eyes lock, and Emma feels that same prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

“Is there… anything you want to _do_?” Regina asks finally.

It’s like a flick of a switch.

Emma nearly stumbles over in her haste to reach Regina. But she’s leaning over, cupping Regina’s soft face in her palms, and Emma has her mouth pressed against Regina’s before Regina can say another word.

The sharp inhale is all Emma hears at first, muffled against Emma’s mouth.

It’s not the sort of kiss Emma has ever imagined having, even if she’s imagined kissing Regina Mills _a lot_ . It’s gentle. And Regina’s lips are soft - _really_ soft - plump and just about everything Emma could’ve wanted and more.

The feeling of Regina’s jaw cradled in her hands has Emma rubbing her thumb over smooth skin. Regina parts her lips then, a small puff of air leaving her mouth and whisking over Emma’s lips.

It’s dizzying. Like her head is spinning and the only thing keeping Emma grounded is this kiss.

As cliché as it all sounds, she _sees_ the fireworks about as much as she feels them exploding in her stomach.

It isn’t until the prickling sensation in the back of her neck fades that Emma gets a clearer picture of what’s going on.

Regina isn’t kissing her back.

Oh.

Emma’s hands fall to her sides and she takes a step back. She can breathe again, at least. And that’s when it hits her.

She just kissed Regina.

She just _kissed_ Regina Mills.

Oh no.

_Oh shit._

Regina is staring at Emma oddly, with an expression on her face that Emma can’t pinpoint. But Regina’s cheeks are flushed and her lips are still parted. Emma _hates_ the fact that all she wants to do is kiss them again.

“Well,” Regina says finally, and clears her throat. Her voice is hoarse anyway. “That answers that question.”

Emma doesn’t say anything. Her hands are shaking. Not to mention she feels like she’s going to puke any second.

So, Emma does what she usually does best.

She runs.

.

.

“ _Damn it_!”

It’s probably the seventh time she’s lost her cool in the last hour alone. Emma doesn’t understand how that’s even possible when all she’s doing is lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. But then thoughts of kisses and Regina Mills come to mind, and Emma just… loses her shit.

She can’t be any more mortified.

It’s been two days since the incident at the vault. Emma hasn’t heard from Regina since, not that Emma’s been putting in much effort to reach out either. Whatever ‘effort’ she’s allowed involves turning her phone off, making sure there isn’t any liquid _courage_ left over in her system, and unleashing curses every few minutes.

If it isn’t the humiliation burning away at her chest, then it’s the rejection.

That kiss was probably the best kiss Emma’s had in a long time, and Regina had stood still as a rock.

She practically put five years of _feelings_ on the line with a stupid kiss. All because of a _stupid_ potion.

Emma groans into her hands. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Henry chooses that moment to pop his head over the doorway all of a sudden. She has her own apartment now, and a steady schedule that includes dropping him off at Regina’s every other week. Emma should’ve thought twice about giving him a key, though.

Especially if he’s going to pop up out of nowhere.

“That’s the third one,” he says.

Emma wrinkles her forehead. “What?”

“That’s the third ‘fuck’ you’ve said in the last thirty minutes.”

“Hey,” Emma says, sitting up. “Watch your mouth.”

But Henry just rolls his eyes. He’s getting far too big now. Nothing like the puny ten-year old she found at her doorstep. At fifteen, he’s already taller than she is, his voice is getting deep, he’s got Regina’s snark now and he’s repeating Emma’s curse words like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Emma would be proud if she didn’t know Regina would probably throttle her for it.

“How long have you even been here? I thought I was supposed to be picking you up from school,” Emma squints at the clock.

“About an hour. Grandpa dropped me off,” he replies. “I figured you wanted space. So I watched an episode of Bates Motel and ate the rest of your leftover lasagna.”

Emma groans. “Seriously, kid?”

“Well, maybe if _someone_ didn’t have their phone off,” Henry says pointedly, before stepping into the room. “Come on, Mom. What’s going on? You’ve been locked in here for days now. And you’ve been swearing like crazy. I mean, fucktrumpet? _Bitchtits_?”

“I never said that.”

“Yes you did. I heard you.”

“Not if you don’t want your mom to know about those ‘graphic novels’ you keep under your bed,” Emma says, and it’s definitely not a threat towards her own son.

Except maybe it is.

Henry opens his mouth, then closes it. “Okay. Fine, you win. Can’t say I didn’t try to help.” And he whirls back around to leave the room. “We’re having dinner at Mom’s tonight, by the way.”

Emma springs off the bed. Suddenly the ceiling isn’t so interesting anymore.

“Who’s _we_?”

“Everyone!” he calls back out from the living room.

.

.

Everyone.

 _Everyone_ apparently includes her mother, who opens the door to Regina’s house with a thrashing toddler in her arms. Emma couldn’t fake sick out of this one. Now she’s starting to regret not simply inhaling a lot of alcohol and passing out so she doesn’t have to witness this tragedy.

“Oh, Emma. Thank goodness you’re here,” Snow sighs in relief. “Can you watch Neal for a moment? Your father accidentally set the couch on fire. Regina is _livid_.”

“Um.”

But she’s already passing along Neal into Emma’s reluctant arms and rushing off, presumably to put out a fire.

“Oh man. If it’s the leather Italia, Mom’s going to be _pissed_ ,” Henry snickers beside her.

And Emma has nothing to say to that because, well. It’s just another day with the Charmings.

She tries to hand Neal off to Henry. “Here you go.”

He backs away immediately. “Nope. I changed his diaper last time.”

“So?”

“I’m _scarred_ , Mom.”

Emma tsks at him, as if she has any right to - she’s been scarred as all hell, too - and hoists Neal up against her hip. He’s calmer now, having stopped thrashing as soon as Snow handed him over. Emma guesses all the insanity was just too much for him.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Emma mutters as she walks into the kitchen.

It’s surprisingly empty, which Emma is grateful for. The last thing she needs right now is to run into Regina after two days of radio silence. Emma can still feel her lips tingling from that night in the vault, like a spark of electricity every time she so much as _thinks_ about kissing Regina.

She’s so screwed.

“Koky, E‘ma,” Neal mumbles incoherently from her hip, pointing to the plate of cookies on the counter.

“Yup,” Emma agrees, and grabs a cookie off the plate. “Don’t ever date girls, kid. Take it from your big sis. Especially beautiful brunette ones. They’ll just break your heart.”

“Those are for dessert.”

Emma jumps and drops the cookie. Well shit.

Regina peers at her in exasperation from the entryway. Emma would at least have the decency to feel ashamed if Regina hadn’t chosen to wear that blue dress Emma really likes. Or if Emma hadn’t planted one on her two nights ago.

If anything, Emma feels _terrified_.

“Neal wanted a cookie,” Emma says as casually as she can. “Didn’t you, Neal?”

“And do you really think feeding a three year old a cookie before dinner is a good idea?” Regina supplies flatly, kneeling over to toss away the fallen cookie.

Emma really _does_ try not to let her eyes roam over Regina’s ass.

“Maybe.”

“I’ve already had enough Charmings to deal with for one day. I don’t need another one.”

“Are you talking about me or Neal?”

Regina stops in front of her, motioning for Emma to pass him over. It doesn’t look like either of them is going to mention that night in the vault. But it’s the first time she’s directly looking at Regina since then, and it makes Emma’s heart soar a little.

She hands Neal over to Regina, who immediately smiles at him in that way she only reserves for children and it’s just… so pretty.

“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” Regina says to her then, peering up to meet Emma’s eyes.

Emma swallows. “Okay.”

When Regina’s gaze continues to linger on her, studying her in a way that has Emma scuffing her feet against the floor anxiously, Emma realizes there’s no way to avoid the awkwardness.

Plus Regina’s face is a picture perfect mask of indifference and Emma fucking hates it.

“Is there… anything you want to talk about?” Regina asks after a moment, eyes still focused intently on her.

Emma hooks her thumbs in her back pockets. “Like what?”

“Like what happened two nights ago.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Regina.”

Regina’s mask breaks for a second, and she gets this look on her face that Emma _thinks_ is frustration and maybe… hurt?

But it slips back into indifference and Regina simply nods.

“Very well. If you can, take the roast out of the oven once the timer ends. While I go fix the fiasco your parents made,” Regina says, whirling back around in her ridiculous high heels.

Emma bites her tongue. “How’s the couch?”

“Oh, you mean my expensive leather Italia?” she calls out. “Your father’s taking it to the dumpster in the morning.”

Emma blows out the breath she’d been holding once Regina leaves and nearly face plants herself onto the counter.

This is going to be a long night.

.

.

But, as it turns out, dinner isn’t too bad.

They settle around the dining room area like they do on a weekly basis. At some point in the last two years, Regina’s home had become the _it_ spot for family gatherings. Regina grudgingly, and unknowingly, took on the role.

“Wow, Mom,” Henry says as he takes in the vast amount of food on the table. “What’re we celebrating? I mean, roast _and_ chicken?”

Regina delicately spreads a napkin over her lap, almost timidly. “Nothing. I thought since it’s almost the weekend…”

“It’s Tuesday,” Henry states, and laughs when she reaches over to pinch his cheek.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Snow proclaims with a smile. “Thank you, Regina.”

“Don’t think this settles the charity function, Snow.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Emma is too busy staring at the smile Regina throws back at Snow, however wry it is. So she doesn’t see David stand up until he’s tapping his glass with a spoon, calling for their attention.

“Since there’s nothing to celebrate, I guess we’ll toast to being together again. On this normal Tuesday night,” David announces with some amusement.

He raises his glass in a toast. “To family.”

“To family,” comes the chorus of echoes.

Emma raises her glass to take a sip, only to find her eyes drifting back across the table, catching Regina’s gaze. Regina stares back questionably, a curious look on her face that has Emma swallowing hard.

Emma looks away and digs into her chicken.

Her parents leave soon after dinner. David pulls Emma in for a bear hug and holds her there for several long seconds, as if he’s aware of it all. As if he _knows_ she has unsolicited feelings for their former nemesis and this is the way to throw pity around.

“Don’t stay up too late, sport,” he ruffles her hair. “I need you back at the station bright and early.”

Emma just grumbles back.

Henry staggers up the stairs to go play his video game once they leave, which leaves Emma alone in the kitchen… with Regina.

Fucking fantastic.

She dawdles by the entryway long enough for Regina to notice.

“These plates aren’t going to dry themselves,” Regina deadpans.

Emma bites back a smile - she’ll never admit it out loud, but she actually _likes_ Regina’s snark - and moves to fill up the empty space by the sink where the dish rag is.

They don’t say anything for a few minutes. The silence is comfortable at least, but Emma is also hyper aware of how close Regina is. It would be so easy to reach out and touch one of Regina’s soapy hands. To start up that conversation again that Emma was too afraid to have earlier and -

What, exactly?

Wait for Regina’s inevitable rejection? _Pretend_ like Emma hasn’t been circling around whatever _this_ is for so long?

“Pass the pan, please?” Regina asks.

Emma does, but it slips out of Regina’s reach, clattering into the sink and soaking Regina’s dress with soapy water.

Emma is mildly horrified. “Regina… shit, I’m so sorry. Do you need -”

Regina holds up a hand. “It’s alright. I have some spare towels in the cabinet.”

Emma steps aside to let her through, her mouth straining on a smile when Regina struggles to reach the top shelf.

“Here.”

Emma leans over her and grabs the towels. She pauses quickly, acutely aware of how _close_ Regina is now, with a towel in Emma’s hands and just about little else between them.

“Here you go,” Emma practically squeaks.

Regina takes it with a small smile. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t move, though. Regina is still staring at her, with that same quiet and curious expression on her face that she had during dinner. It kicks Emma’s heart rate a notch. But Emma stops herself from taking a step back, mostly because she can practically count Regina’s eyelashes from this close and Emma is struck by it.

By how unimaginably _pretty_ Regina is.

 _Beautiful_ , Emma thinks instead. Maybe a little longingly.

Or rather, _a lot_ longingly. Emma’s gaze sweeps over Regina’s face, over the curve of her red lips and back up. Regina still hasn’t moved, but her wide eyes are darting between Emma’s as the moment stretches, like an elastic band getting ready to snap.

The tension is so thick. Emma can’t seem to drag her gaze away from Regina’s mouth. She takes a step forward, and Emma can _hear_ the soft hitch in Regina’s throat as soon as she does. It makes the fine hairs on Emma’s arms crawl. But there’s something tender about the way Regina is staring back that has Emma reaching out, her thumb tracing a light path over Regina’s jaw line.

Regina’s lips part with a sort of dawning awe. Then she leans her face into Emma’s hand.

Emma holds her breath.

Shit.

It’s the final straw in Emma’s unraveling self-control before she lets her fingers drift down to the side of Regina’s neck, and just… dives right in.

The surprised little gasp that puffs out is silenced by Emma’s mouth finding Regina’s. It’s gentle, giving Regina the opportunity to back away if she needs to.

But Regina _doesn’t_. There’s another shaky exhale against Emma’s mouth, after a second. Two. And then Regina is pressing forward instead, her lips gliding effortlessly over Emma’s.

Emma’s stomach flips _._

Regina is kissing her back.

She can feel the quick thrum of Regina’s pulse racing beneath Emma’s palm, from where her hand is still cradling Regina’s neck. Emma rubs the spot gently with her thumb and presses even closer, tracing Regina’s lower lip with her tongue.

Regina’s pulse jumps against Emma’s thumb. Emma smiles a little into the kiss, but doesn’t dare mention it and ruin the moment. She _does_ catch Regina’s lower lip between her teeth and sucks, causing Regina to exhale a tiny gasp.

The towel drops to the floor, unnoticed.

Regina closes the distance and unexpectedly presses her body into Emma’s. A hand twines into Emma’s hair, and Emma is left breathing raggedly, searching anywhere and everywhere to put her hands; from Regina’s neck to her shoulders, her back, and finally settling on her hips. Emma is driven purely by instinct as she gently guides Regina against the sink, pressing closer, feeling Regina tremble slightly against her.

When Emma catches Regina’s lip again, letting her tongue flick over Regina’s tentatively, Regina’s hand tightens around Emma’s hair. Her back arches.

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina whispers unsteadily. The word comes out, breathless, ghosting over Emma’s jaw.

And Emma feels a thrill spike up her spine.

She wants to hear Regina say her name again. Over and over in that same husky tone. She wants to feel Regina quiver against her mouth.

She wants to keep kissing Regina forever and not even bother to come up for air.

So Emma _does_ \- she kisses Regina again, this time more firmly. Plump lips move enthusiastically over her own, and Emma has to grip the edge of the counter on either side of them as Regina actually _bites_ down on Emma’s lip.

The shock of it prompts Emma to jerk forward, her hips coming to meet Regina’s in a sharp - and totally accidental - push.

Regina moans.

Emma _so_ doesn’t expect it. The moan is raspy, much like Regina’s voice. Long and almost _needy_ . And Emma might be dizzy and intoxicated by everything _Regina_ but she desperately wants to hear it again. Just as Emma’s mouth drops down to the smooth expanse of Regina’s throat, they’re interrupted -

“Moms!” Henry calls out from upstairs. “Have you seen my Game of Thrones set?”

\- and Regina shoves her right off.

Emma tumbles back, but luckily doesn’t fall over. Her lungs are tight beneath her ribcage and she can’t quite get her breathing under control. Neither can Regina, apparently. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed. But she stands up straight and looks more put together than Emma feels, that’s for sure.

As the last several minutes begin to sink in, Emma freezes in place, caught between a state of panic and… joy? Bliss?

 _Arousal_?

Yeah. She’s definitely turned on.

“That… was unexpected,” Regina says decisively. Her voice is hoarse again, like she still hasn’t been able to catch her breath.

Emma’s mouth curls into a cheeky grin despite herself.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was.”

Regina stares at her. Like all other times, it makes Emma’s stomach do that fluttery thing that she normally hates. Now it doesn’t seem so bad.

“I think,” Regina begins, her hand rising up to rest over her stomach. “I think it’s getting late. You should probably go.”

And there’s the disappointment.

It’s a hard blow. Much harder than Emma anticipates it being when it feels a whole lot like a second rejection.

Emma rocks on her heels, pasting on a smile. “Right. I’ll just…”

“Henry…?”

“Can stay here tonight, if you want.”

“Of course.”

“Right.”

Emma twirls on her heel before this can get any more awkward. She hears the click-clack of Regina’s heels following her to the front door, though, and even as Emma is standing outside on the front porch, she doesn’t _want_ to leave.

“I can drop him off tomorrow after school,” Regina offers.

Emma nods, forcing herself to keep her hands tucked in her back pockets. It should be a problem that she wants to cup Regina’s face and kiss her again.

It is a problem. A _big_ problem.

“That’s fine,” Emma says, nonplussed.

Inwardly she’s freaking the fuck out.

Regina observes her, her eyes flicking from Emma’s down to the general vicinity of what Emma thinks is her mouth. Regina sighs and moves forward.

“You have lipstick… everywhere,” Regina mutters, and uses her thumb to wipe at the corner of Emma’s mouth.

Emma looks at her, wide-eyed. Regina pauses in her movement to latch onto her gaze, before the sultriest smirk - and sly. Definitely not innocent whatsoever - curves over Regina’s mouth.

If Emma thought she had any control left over her raging hormones, not anymore.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Regina confirms and takes a step back. “Em-ma.”

Emma is left staring after her as Regina struts back inside. While Emma’s heart might be failing right now, at least the view is great.

It isn’t until the door shuts that Emma remembers -

“Wait, Regina. My -” The door swings open briefly, long enough for Emma’s red jacket to be flung into her arms, nearly hitting her in the face. The door closes again.

“- jacket.”

It’s quiet out on the porch. Emma’s lips are still tingling. If she listens closely, she can hear the last shred of her denial crumbling in its wake.

There’s no _denying_ anything. She just kissed Regina Mills.

And she liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I know I said updates would be within a week but I struggled the first week trying to get anything out. And then this chapter ended up being much longer than I anticipated.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this fic. I've been so awful at replying lately, but I appreciate the love so much. Thank you :') especially considering there's essentially no plot to this but awkward flirting and a lot of kissing
> 
> This is unbeta'd and not proofread because I'm just... lazy. Apologies for any mistakes. Also rating has changed to M for thirsty motherfuckers making out.

Tomorrow comes too soon.

And things are... weird.

Not the _bad_ kind, either. But different.

Emma knows this because she drops off her paperwork in the Mayor’s office the next day. It isn’t like any other day - she’s nervous, for one. And Emma now has a very distinct idea of what Regina’s mouth feels pressed up against hers. Lipstick and all.

Regina sits at her desk, resuming the usual regal posture in her chair as she pointedly ignores Emma’s existence altogether. It’s so familiar in a way that prompts Emma to roll her eyes.

Just like old times.

“The paperwork you requested, Your -” Emma pauses. Regina’s not really a _queen_ anymore, is she? “Mayorness.”

If Regina hears her, she doesn’t show it at first. She’s scribbling silently in what looks to be a planner, which is sprawled over her desk, before gesturing to the empty space above it.

“Just leave it here, please.”

Emma does. She steps back, watching as Regina doesn’t so much as glance up.

And she waits.

 _What_ Emma is waiting for, she’s not really sure. She only knows that she’s exhausted. Probably because she hasn’t been able to get a wink of sleep the night before, and it pretty much has everything to do with the woman scribbling away in front of her.

Emma has had her share of sleepless nights in the past; from the hours she would remain locked away in her foster homes, to the nights she would stay up staring at the blank walls of her prison cell, to the many other nights after that. Most people wouldn’t get much sleep after discovering their entire life is literally one big fucking fairytale.

But succumbing to one more sleepless night all because of a _kiss_?

Yeah. That’s new.

It doesn’t help that Emma hasn’t been able to _stop_ thinking about it either.

When Regina finally does glance up, Emma’s breath catches a little in her throat and it’s with the very real realization that she is also _very_ screwed.

“Is there something else, Sheriff?” Regina asks.

Sheriff.

Sometimes Emma wonders if her life is actually an intro to a porno.

“Uh, no,” Emma says and awkwardly scuffs her boot against the floor. “No. There isn’t.”

“Then if that’ll be all -”

And Emma hates that picture perfect mask of indifference enough to blurt out -

“Why did you kiss me?”

There. Blunt and to the point.

Emma immediately regrets it as soon as she says it.

Regina’s mask falls briefly. “If I remember correctly, _you_ kissed _me_.”

“But you kissed me _back_ ,” Emma points out.

Regina sighs in frustration. “Are we really going to have a conversation about this now?”

“Why not?”

“Well you certainly weren’t too keen on talking about it last night, were you?”

“That was _before_ you kissed me _back_.”

They’re at a stalemate. As if Regina _wouldn’t_ totally destroy her in a game of chess. Emma likes to think she’s become an expert over the years when it comes to Regina’s temper. Like right now, Emma is fairly certain that Regina is trying hard not to throw a fireball at her head.

But there’s also something else about Regina’s face that Emma can’t quite place, brimming underneath the irritation. A sort of vulnerable hesitancy lingering in her eyes.

“What did it mean?” Emma asks, breaking the silence.

Regina’s gaze continues to trail over her, thoughtful. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean, Emma.”

And honestly -

Emma grits her teeth. She doesn’t know what the hell _that’s_ supposed to mean either.

It’s all too much. Too heavy for a conversation being held in Town Hall this early in the morning, when all Emma wants to do is hike Regina onto that stupid desk and kiss her properly this time. With tongue, too.

But Emma hardly thinks Regina would appreciate that.

“Come have dinner with me,” Emma offers, as casually as she can muster.

But then Regina’s face softens, and Emma’s heart rolls over unexpectedly in her chest, so maybe it’s not so casual after all.

“And Henry,” Emma adds. “At my place. Least I can do after you’ve been feeding me all these years.”

Regina arches a brow. And god, it’s hot. “I wasn’t aware you could cook.”

“I have my moments. I can make a mean quesadilla.”

“Of course you can,” Regina says with some amusement.

Her eyes don’t stray away from Emma’s, though, even as Regina gets to her feet and gives Emma an unsubtle once-over that makes Emma’s mouth go dry. The space between them is much smaller now that Regina rounds her desk and is standing right in front her, near enough that Emma is reminded of last night all over again. Of Regina’s soft lips, of the breathy little gasps that Emma _can’t get out of her head._

“I’ll think about it,” Regina says, before reaching out to smooth over the collar of Emma’s shirt. The touch sends chills down Emma’s spine.

“Yeah?” Emma says hoarsely.

Regina just hums and looks at Emma as if she’s considering something, letting her hand run from Emma’s shoulder to her forearm.

And it’s all fucking bizarre, really, that Emma can’t do anything but gape slightly.

Is this flirting? Is Regina _flirting_ with her?

“Here,” Regina says and tucks a folded slip of paper into Emma’s hand, but not before leaning closer, stopping Emma’s breath altogether.

Emma’s heart is lodged so far up her throat, it’s a wonder how she manages to even speak.

“What’s this?”

“A two-for-one coupon for coffee at Granny’s,” Regina replies, which is… definitely not what Emma is expecting. “You look like you need it.”

“Seriously?”

“Or you can try swiping a revival draught from your mother’s charity case. An actual one this time,” Regina says, and she’s still so close. Emma can smell her perfume. “But I won’t have my Sheriff too exhausted to do her job.”

Emma blinks slowly. Swallows.

“Your Sheriff, huh?”

Oh yeah. This is flirting.

For a second Regina appears similarly transfixed by her own statement, the glint in her eye turning almost feral. Emma can’t help but notice the tiny details on Regina’s face now that she’s close enough to see them; the way Regina’s eyelashes droop slightly as she regards Emma, the red lipstick Emma wants to smear with her mouth.

And of course the scar just above Regina’s lip, which Emma has fantasized more than once on what it would feel like to trace her tongue over it.

She is so distracted by the need to do _just that_ that Emma doesn’t realize she’s swaying forward, the tip of her nose nearly brushing over Regina’s when Regina’s hand comes to rest on Emma’s shoulder again.

“Yes,” Regina agrees, her voice oddly thick. She lets her fingers trail up Emma’s neck briefly, her tone settling on something that sounds more like curious wonder. “My Sheriff.”

And then Regina takes a step back.

Emma instantly misses the closeness. But mostly she misses the air that shoots back into her lungs as soon as Regina steps away.

“If you hurry, you might find your mother bribing nuns at the church,” Regina advises, as if she hasn’t just invaded Emma’s personal space five seconds ago.

Emma is too busy controlling her heart palpitations to figure out what that even means.

“What?”

“The revival draught,” Regina clarifies with a sly smile. “Remember. Red. Cloudy. Odorless.”

“Right… is that my cue to leave?”

“Not unless you’re here for another reason.”

“Nope,” Emma says quickly. Not when that other reason involves the desk and dirty, _dirty_ things that Emma should not be thinking about. “I’ll just… go.”

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

Regina looks faintly amused. “The door’s over there, Emma.”

“Right.”

Emma is going to die any second. She is halfway out the door, ready to bind tape over her mouth so she never has to utter a word again, when Regina calls out -

“Oh. And Emma?”

Emma pauses. Regina is standing behind her desk, arms folded over her chest and she actually seems somewhat nervous.

“I can go for a quesadilla,” Regina states and nods with the slightest lift of her chin. “Since it is your specialty.”

Emma just nods. She doesn’t trust her voice not to crack. But she also feels strangely giddy, mixed in with palpable panic as she closes the door behind her. She presses her back against it. The heart palpitations are back.

 _Shit shit shit_.

Ahead, Regina’s secretary sends her a weird look. Emma waves her hand sheepishly.

.

.

Regina Mills is going to fucking kill her.

.

.

Emma _does_ find Snow at the church later, bribing nuns like Regina said she would be. The sight of it is so ridiculous that Emma has to stop for a moment and reconsider her life choices.

“Emma,” Snow greets her enthusiastically. “Are you here for the AVRDL as well?”

“The what?”

“The Animal Voting Right Defense League,” Snow says. Defensively. “My charity function. Emma, how do you not know about it? I’ve mentioned it to you twice.”

And both times Emma probably wasn’t listening. “I -”

“Birds are friends and deserve the same rights as we do,” Snow insists before passing over a pamphlet, which Emma reluctantly takes. “Now, is there something you needed?”

“Honestly? Now I’m just wondering why you’re here and not at the school.”

“I have a substitute temporarily in my place. Apparently selling potions to minors is illegal. Mother Superior has agreed to help spread the word.”

Emma rubs a hand over her face. “Potions. Yeah. Now that you mention it, I’m going to need one of those.”

There are _a lot_. More than Emma remembers Regina preparing that night in the vault, which makes Emma think Snow had somehow strong-armed her into making more.

Emma spots the cloudy red one immediately.

“That’ll be twenty dollars,” Snow says, before Emma even has the chance to pick it up.

Emma gapes at her. “You’re charging me? But I’m your daughter.”

“It’s for _charity_ , Emma!”

Emma lets out a disgruntled sigh, digging into her wallet for a twenty that Snow shamelessly snatches from her hand. Emma doesn’t think to complain, because she recognizes the deep red, cloudy vial just a row below it.

“You know what?” Emma says and holds it up. The label on top reads _Liquid Courage_. “I change my mind. I’ll take this one.”

Snow stares at her expectantly. “That’s ten more.”

Emma fishes into her pockets, holding out a handful of crinkled bills. “I’ve got seven?”

“That will do.”

It’s 11 AM on a Wednesday and Emma wonders how she’s managed to get hustled by her own mother.

In the end, Emma doesn’t know what she’s going to do with the potion. The most obvious response is to drink it and see what happens, but there’s no telling what Emma’s deepest desires are beyond kissing Regina at this point, when Regina’s words continue to haunt her every waking minute throughout the rest of the afternoon.

_It can mean whatever you want it to mean._

Emma has no fucking clue what she wants it to mean. All she knows is that she wants it to happen again and again, without the fear of eventual rejection.

Without the panic that comes with wanting something _more_.

The last thing she needs is to add another mistake to her growing list of stupid things she’s done.

Like kiss Regina, for one.

Nevermind that it’s also the greatest mistake she’s made since Henry.

Henry, who comes stumbling into their apartment after school later that day with a plate filled with quesadillas.

“Henry,” Emma says as she tucks the foil aside to get a look at the plate underneath it. It’s a fancy ass plate.

It’s also got Regina’s name written all over it. “What’s this?”

“Qsadi’as,” Henry replies over a mouthful of food.

“I’m not blind, kid. I don’t think I’m deaf either, so you can stop smacking on your food like that.”

“Mom made them,” he says and swallows. “She told me to give them to you.”

“Did she say why?”

“N’up,” he mumbles over another bite.

And it’s really kind of gross that Emma has to swat him. Henry just laughs.

Regina has never cooked specifically for Emma. Of course Regina would send Henry to Emma’s apartment with food every so often, with the excuse that he needs to eat something other than grilled cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Emma had ignored the fact that there was always enough to feed them both.

But now Emma is left staring at a plate of quesadillas and she has no idea what to do with them.

She takes out her phone and sends Regina a text -

_What’s with the food?_

Emma doesn’t have to wait too long. Her phone buzzes several seconds later.

**_Most people would eat the food._ **

Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning as she types back -

_Most ppl would also question said food_

**_Why question it when you can simply try it?_ **

Emma hesitates - she _does_ have a point. She begrudgingly takes a quesadilla from the plate and takes a bite.

And nearly moans out loud. It’s embarrassing.

As if sensing Emma’s reaction from a control channel away, Regina texts her.

**_Well?_ **

_It’s good._

_*Great. Ugh_

_That why you made them? So you can show off?_

**_I don’t need to show off, Emma._ **

**_But consider it a bite of what I can do ;)_ **

Emma stops chewing. There’s a pun in there. She knows it. And some form of non-platonic flirtation because no one in their right mind would casually use a winky face with those words.

The fact that Regina Mills just used a winky face is unheard of.

That’s like… double the sex appeal.

Emma’s heart is beating rapidly in her chest as she types out -

_Is that a challenge, Mills?_

**_Take it as you will_ **

A beat. And then -

**_Swan._ **

Emma doesn’t realize Henry’s staring at her from the living room until it’s too late. She’s already grinning like a moron.

“Why’re you smiling?” he asks.

Emma puts her phone down and frowns. Somehow even that feels like an upside down smile, though.

“What? I can’t smile?”

“Not like that,” he insists and snatches another quesadilla off the plate. “It’s creeping me out.”

Emma scoffs and snags the entire plate for herself, but not before glancing down at her phone once more with the biggest shit-eating grin that she can’t hide even if she tries.

“ _Mom_.”

.

.

Emma sends off one last text just for the hell of it.

_Challenge accepted._

.

.

What that challenge might be is still unclear, much like everything else when it comes to Regina. But this is how it goes.

Emma delivers a container of her own quesadillas to Town Hall two days later.

It’s like clockwork. By noon Emma is anxiously sitting at her desk when she receives the text, one of the many that seems to be lighting up her phone more often than not these days.

**_Not bad._ **

_Not bad? That all you have to say?_

**_Were you expecting more of a compliment?_ **

_...Maybe?_

**_Alright._ **

Emma watches as the speech bubble animation on her screen appears, greys out, and then reappears.

**_Better than I expected._ **

**_You’re full of surprises, Emma._ **

Emma stares at the last text like she hadn’t been expecting it, which she _hasn’t_. But that’s beside the point. She feels like she’s being swallowed whole and the only thing she can think to call it is... pining.

There. That’s what it is. It’s pining.

She’s a pining, lovesick dumbass and this is what she has to show for it.

Emma sets her phone aside and faceplants onto her desk.

She hasn’t seen Regina since that morning in her office, which isn’t to say they haven’t been in touch; far from it, actually. Between juggling Henry’s schedule and sending each other nonsensical messages, Emma now has a pretty good idea of what it’s like to talk to Regina on a daily basis.

Of what it’s like to send stupid memes and receive snarky replies in return.

It’s nice. _Too_ nice, and therein lies the problem.

Whatever game they had been playing has turned into some sort of easy going bond that teeters on the precipice of something beyond friendship. Crossing that line is a whole other story, considering neither of them has yet to mention the kiss… es… again. Kisses. All two of them.

Both of which are constantly on Emma’s mind like a broken video tape, replaying the same scene over and over.

It’s… frustrating.

By the time her shift at the station ends, Emma’s practically a zombie. She hasn’t had much sleep the night before, having spent most of the morning fighting back yawns and rubbing at her eyelids.

Even now, as she’s laying in bed, Emma wonders how much longer she can continue this facade. The potion remains untouched in her nightstand.

She can’t do anything too stupid if Regina’s not here, can she?

It’s a question Emma doesn’t dwell on for too long when her phone buzzes.

Regina.

**_How was your day?_ **

_Filled with boring paperwork._

_U?_

**_Making sure there’s enough boring paperwork for you to do._ **

The joking nature of the text has Emma smiling. She shifts on the bed, pressing her cheek against a pillow.

_Har har_

**_Are you and Henry home?_ **

Emma’s brow furrows.

_I am. Henry should be back soon. Why?_

**_For dinner._ **

**_If the invite is still available, that is._ **

_When?_

**_Now._ **

There’s a knock on the door. Emma lurches up from the bed, keenly aware now of what she’s wearing. Or rather, what she _isn’t_ , which includes pants and a shirt that isn’t stained and kind of see-through.

She changes quickly, throwing on the first tank top she sees as she races to the door and flings it open.

She doesn't expect to come face-to-face with Zelena.

“Uh… what…”

“Gods, _finally._ I thought I was about to have a bloody aneurism standing at the door all day. Here,” she says and shoves Robyn into her hands. Emma briefly considers what it is about her that has women throwing babies her way. “She’s been a nightmare, honestly. Like one of those awful gruplin creatures from that movie.”

“You mean Gremlins?”

Zelena waves a hand. “Whatever. Now, the loo?”

Emma points in the general direction of the bathroom. As soon as she skitters away, Emma notices Regina at the doorway.

“She was very insistent on coming,” Regina explains, appearing apologetic. She steps inside, closing the door. “Claims she’s always left out of family gatherings.”

“Huh.”

It's only been two days, but the impact of seeing Regina again is instantaneous. Emma’s stomach flutters and her lungs shrivel up for a moment. She coughs, hiking Robyn closer to her side.

“Do you need me to -” Regina gestures to the baby.

“No, I've got her,” Emma says and smiles down at Robyn. “Perks of having a baby as your brother.”

When she glances back up, Regina’s eyes are on her, regarding Emma. Not in the curious way she’d been doing lately, either. The look is more knowing than anything. Soft and… wistful.

It's the second time in two minutes that the air whooshes right out of Emma’s lungs.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… your shirt,” Regina says with some humor. She steps in close, her hand reaching out to smooth the hem of Emma’s tank top, just over the strip of skin showing along Emma’s hip. “It's inside out.”

“O-oh.”

Emma can't really concentrate on saying anything more profound when Regina’s hand is still on her hip, her thumb grazing over that stupid strip of skin that's making Emma’s heart do stupid things.

It takes a great deal of effort to say, “I - uh... probably should’ve warned you. I haven’t gone grocery shopping.”

Luckily Regina’s eyes snag away from Emma and down to the grocery bag she’s holding in her grip. “That’s alright,” Regina says. Her hand falls away from Emma’s hip. Emma breathes out in relief. “I came prepared.”

“Yeah? What’re we making?”

“You’ll see,” Regina states and heads for the kitchen, the click of her heels echoing all the way there. Emma stares on like the pervert she is. “Please tell me you have spices.”

“Second cabinet by the fridge.”

Once Regina is out of view, and out of earshot, Emma adjusts Robyn against her hip and sighs.

“Your Auntie’s a total tease. You know what that means?”

“Ogyaa,” Robyn gurgles.

“Good. You’re too young anyway,” Emma mumbles and sets out to make herself useful.

.

.

Dinner, surprisingly enough, isn’t a complete trainwreck.

She only says this because they make tacos and Emma loves tacos. But then again, you can’t expect nothing to go wrong when you’re having dinner with the entire Mills family.

Emma’s first mistake is breaking out the bottle of wine.

“You’re awfully cheerful today, Emma,” Zelena observes from across the table. “Tell me. Did you finally get yourself a good shag?”

“ _Zelena_ ,” Regina scolds, aghast.

“What? It’s not like she doesn’t need it, Regina. So do you, mind you. Mother might as well have named you Mrs. Grundy.”

“Gross,” Henry mutters and wrinkles his nose. “She’s been smiling like that for days, though.”

“Really now?” Zelena says and smiles, sharp and coy and Emma’s not sure what to do with the bottle of wine now that she has it uncorked. “One of the town idiots managed to catch the Savior’s eye, then?”

Emma figures she doesn’t have to know. She jerks back in a wave of panic, spilling wine down her shirt. It leaves a giant red stain where there should be white.

“Shit.”

“Oh lovely. Shall we make this a toast? I’ve never had swan with my wine before.”

“Zelena,” Regina chides again and stands up, coming to Emma’s aid with a handful of napkins.

Emma backs away. “Regina, it’s okay - don’t -”

But Regina is already standing far too close, napkins pressed against Emma’s chest and it’s all _too much_ . Emma unconsciously reaches for Regina’s hand, which sits just enough over Emma’s cleavage to be a _tad_ bit inappropriate. Regina’s eyes flick up to hers, surprised.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Zelena interrupts. “It’s fifty degrees outside and I feel like I’m sweltering in the heat of all your bloody ogling.”

“Maybe if you’d _shut up_ for one minute, you won’t have to feel the heat of my fist against your face,” Regina bites out.

“Well, _maybe_ if you simply _magicked_ away that little stain, Regina, there’d be no need to grope Emma’s knockers, would there?”

“What’re knockers?” Henry asks.

“ _Zelena_!” Regina hisses and steps away, clearly flustered.

“Oh, come off it! I came here to have dinner. Not sit through this bloody foreplay of yours.”

Emma’s second mistake is trying to escape from it all. She shuffles back, her hip colliding with the edge of the table, which in turn knocks over the rest of the wine.

Regina’s growl of frustration is a little scary.

“ _Emma_.”

“Sorry!”

And Zelena just raises her empty glass in the air. “Cheers!”

Emma takes it back. Dinner is a disaster.

By nine Zelena is cooped up in the living room with Henry and Robyn, and Emma doesn’t have the energy to tell her to get the hell out. In fact, Emma’s pretty sure that would only get her torched.

Then she would be _Roast Swan_ , and have more to worry about than spilled wine. Or the fact that Regina hasn’t said a word to her all throughout dinner.

Emma tries not to overthink it. Really. She does.

But she’s overthinking it, even as Henry approaches them while Emma finishes drying the last dish and Regina silently puts it away.

“I think I’m going to bed now,” he tells her.

“Already?” Emma mumbles. “It’s barely ten.”

“Yeah… early morning, you know? I uh… promised grandpa I’d go fishing with him,” Henry says. The lie pings so loudly, Emma thinks her ears are ringing.

Nevermind that David is doing the morning rounds at the station tomorrow.

“Okay…”

He leans over to kiss her cheek, repeating the gesture with Regina, before pinning them both with a shrewd look. Emma catches it as quickly as it takes for him to plaster on an angelic smile.

That conniving little shit.

“G’night Moms!”

“Good night, sweetheart,” Regina says. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” he agrees, slamming his bedroom door shut.

Once again, Emma is alone in the kitchen with Regina.

This is not good.

“So…” Emma trails off, dumping the dish rag on the counter. She wonders if it’s possible to get a stomach ulcer from nerves.

It definitely fucking feels like it.

“I should go,” Regina says. Emma’s heart drops. “Before it gets too late.”

“You could stay,” Emma offers swiftly. _Too_ swiftly. She doesn’t know what the hell she’s even offering. “You drove, right? All that wine must be getting to your head by now.”

“You mean the portion that you didn’t manage to spill?” Regina says, amused.

“Yeah. That. You could… have my bed?” Emma suggests, rubbing the back of her neck. At Regina’s arched brow, Emma hastily adds, “And I can take the couch?”

A glance at said couch is all Emma needs to know that isn’t happening. Zelena is sprawled across it, mouth half open and she’s out cold. Emma instantly regrets not kicking her ass out sooner.

“I can take the floor?” Emma says nimbly.

Regina’s lip twitches. “You realize I can just ‘poof’ back to my house, don’t you?”

“I want you to stay.”

It’s not what Emma was planning to say. She’d been adamant on leaving anything remotely _emotional_ out of the picture until Emma can get her feelings sorted out. But this feels sorted enough. And it seems to be the right thing to say.

“Okay,” Regina relents, hesitant.

“Okay?”

“I’ll stay. But I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’re adults, Emma. We can share it.”

Emma’s smile freezes on her face. “Oh.”

“I can handle your snoring, but if you so much as nudge me with your foot even once -”

Emma can’t help but feel offended. “I don’t snore.”

“We shared a cabin together. On a filthy pirate ship on our way to rescue our son in Neverland,” Regina states, nonplussed. “Trust me. You snore.”

Emma merely grumbles as Regina turns and heads for the living room, presumably to check on Robyn. She doesn’t know what’s more nerve wracking - Regina in her bed or Regina sleeping next to her, but Emma decides to be the good host and ask -

“Need any pajamas?”

When Regina just looks at her with that perfect eyebrow arch that she does and transforms her outfit into a simple, satin nightgown, Emma almost wishes she hadn’t asked. The gown dips low in the chest region, the hem stopping just below her thighs, and Emma really has no right to be ogling Regina.

Like at all.

“Better?”

Emma nods. Her mouth feels like a fucking cactus.

“Sure.”

As soon as Regina is gone, Emma’s body goes slack and she slumps against the counter. “Right,” she mutters to herself. “Magic’s a thing.”

Somehow, her once prophesied death for being the Savior is minor compared to this. Death by raging libido seems to be the proper way to do it.

.

.

Death by emotional distress also seems very fitting.

By the time Emma is showered and in her pajamas - which aren’t technically pajamas but the first pair of shorts and t-shirt she could find - Regina is already settled into bed. It’s like walking into the Twilight Zone, but instead things are actually going _right_.

“That’s my side of the bed,” Emma can’t help but point out.

Regina simply stares, straight-faced, and Emma sighs. She turns off the light and slips into the other side; the side closest to the window and Emma hates sleeping by the window, but she’s willing to bear it for this special occasion.

And then… silence.

It’s the kind of excruciating silence Emma knows she’s just imagining, mixed with a tension that feels stifling in the air. Like all other times, Emma is mindful of the distance between them.

Of how easy it would be to close it and -

Regina huffs suddenly. “Stop that.”

Emma tilts her head over in confusion. “Stop what?”

“Your thinking. I can hear it from way over here.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Emma fidgets nervously, but it doesn’t stop the cluster of thoughts racing through her head. If Regina thought she could hear her thoughts then, they’re probably screaming right about now.

Regina lets out another sigh. “Emma.”

“ _I’m trying_ , okay?”

“You’re shifting closer.”

Emma falters at that. She hadn’t realized it, but she’s closer to the middle of the bed than she was before.

“That… was unintentional.”

She doesn’t need to see Regina to know she’s rolling her eyes. There’s some shuffling on the other side as the bed dips. Regina shifts over from the edge, meeting Emma’s halfway point unexpectedly. Emma rolls her head to the side in surprise, her eyes catching Regina’s despite the swaths of darkness surrounding them.

They’re almost nose-to-nose.

“How’s this?” Regina asks lightly.

Emma gulps. “Good.”

“I never took you for a cuddler.”

Emma’s forehead crinkles. “I’m not -” she almost protests.

But Regina releases an airy laugh instead, husky and amused. It sounds different when they’re this close, when Emma can trace Regina’s profile in the dark, when the tension is seeping back in and it’s for totally different reasons this time.

Emma flips onto her side, letting her fingers come to rest gently on Regina’s cheek. The laughter promptly dies.

They just stare at each other, maintaining eye contact and Emma notices that same pull she’d felt three nights ago in the kitchen, when the urge to kiss Regina had overcome every single one of her senses. It’s like a warmth aching low in her stomach, sizzling up her spine. Even as Emma’s hesitating again, wondering if this is what Regina _wants_.

But then Emma brushes her thumb over the corner of Regina’s mouth. Her lips part at the slight touch.

Regina’s breathing quickens. She slides closer to Emma, their noses bumping in the process.

And it’s so fucking _endearing_ that Emma doesn’t hold back.

This time Regina leans into her halfway. The second Regina’s mouth eagerly finds hers, it’s like Emma comes alive. There is no tentativeness to the kiss like there was in the last one.

Regina presses forward a little, instantly opening up to Emma, her hand instinctively sliding up to twist in Emma’s hair. Without the lipstick, Regina’s lips are so much softer. She tastes like peppermint - Emma just wants to breathe her in and taste every inch of her.

Apparently some part of Regina wants her to, too, because her hand leaves Emma’s hair in favor of her t-shirt, clenching her fingers around the hem of it, before sliding beneath the cotton and over the bare skin of Emma’s back.

Emma shivers.

Fuck. Okay. That feels amazing.

But not quite as amazing as Regina’s tongue darting into her mouth briefly, retreating back, and then coming back in to snare Emma’s bottom lip between her teeth.

The pain of it is shocking enough to jerk Emma’s hips forward. But in a _good_ way.

“Ow,” Emma murmurs and pretends to pout. “You’re going to make me bleed.”

Regina chuckles, low and dirty and Emma’s veins are practically on fire. She thinks her ovaries might explode from that chuckle alone.

“Are you complaining?” Regina breathes back. She nips gently this time, the tip of her tongue flicking over Emma’s lip.

And Emma just about loses it.

Her own hand curls into Regina’s silky locks and she yanks her forward. Their mouths collide in a mash of lips and teeth.

And tongue. Emma finds she likes the way Regina melts into her as Emma sweeps her tongue over Regina’s lip scar like she’s imagined doing so many times. But it still doesn’t fully compare to the shudder that surges through her with Regina’s tongue in her mouth, which Emma gladly pulls between her teeth and sucks.

It’s possibly the most sensual, filthiest kiss Emma’s ever experienced.

Regina moans her approval, the vibration rippling over the roof of Emma’s mouth. It’s the second time she’s heard Regina moan, and like the previous time, it makes Emma’s blood burn.

Emma wants to hear it again.

She feels rather than hears the whine that leaves Regina’s mouth as Emma abandons her lips. Emma imagines they must be red and puffy by now, and she nearly regrets having the light off when she can’t make out how flushed Regina’s face must be.

But all of that is put on the back burner once she starts kissing Regina’s throat, nipping and lightly biting down the column of her neck. Regina’s breath snags where Emma’s mouth is.

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina says in a trembling sigh.

Emma finds Regina’s pulse fairly easily. It’s racing against Emma’s lips, and she traces the throbbing skin above it with the tip of her tongue. Soothing it.

Emma bites.

Regina reels forward, her body arching into Emma’s with the most desperate, hottest _mewl_ Emma has ever heard. She has to keep her hands from hiking down to Regina’s ass when Regina digs her fingernails into Emma’s back.

But Regina is already pulling her in for another open-mouthed kiss, hot and needy and forceful enough that Emma can’t take control even if she tries.

She _does_ try. But Regina’s leg slips in between hers and it knocks Emma totally off guard.

Regina suddenly rolls them over, straddling Emma’s thigh, at which point they freeze and -

Their eyes lock.

It’s spellbinding. They’re both breathing hard, loud in the otherwise silent room. Regina is leaning over her and she has her hands wrapped around Emma’s wrists, pinned over Emma’s head.

Well then.

Emma could get used to this.

She has never been this turned on in her life. Even in the dark, Emma can see Regina’s brown eyes boring into her, the outline of her body shaped underneath the thin nightgown she’s wearing, which had ridden up to the tops of her thighs.

Thighs that are currently enclosed around her own. Emma’s heart is thundering in her chest as she slowly, tentatively raises it, pressing it between Regina’s.

The gasp that rises in Regina’s throat only spurs Emma on.

She escapes Regina’s loose hold and sits up, bringing Regina down against her by the hips. The motion causes Regina’s hand to spring out and slam against the headboard.

Regina sucks in a sharp breath.

“It’s okay,” Emma assures her softly. She can feel Regina fully pressed against her bare thigh now - warm and damp and _throbbing_ over the silky feel of her underwear.

Emma swallows thickly.

“You can grind against me.”

To emphasize her point, Emma tugs Regina’s hips forward, gently urging her to move them. Regina does and jolts into Emma, their noses brushing as Regina sucks in another gasp. Regina is practically soaked right through.

“Is this okay?” Emma asks, shakily.

She’s having a hard time controlling her hands when all she wants to do is plant them right over Regina’s ass. She doesn’t think she should be crossing those boundaries just yet, though.

Regina chuckles again, her hot breath ghosting over Emma’s jaw and Emma is losing what little bit of self-control she has left.

Fuck.

“Your chivalry’s appreciated, Emma,” Regina says before molding their mouths together.

She rolls her hips of her own accord this time, grinding down hard against Emma’s thigh, the motion nearly sending them tumbling backward onto the bed, and the moan that rumbles into Emma’s mouth - it drives Emma _insane_ \- it -

“Appreciated. But not needed,” Regina finishes with a panting whisper.

_Fuck._

Emboldened, Emma slides her hands from Regina’s hips and grabs her ass to pull her flush against her body. Regina presses into her, sharply, their bodies in full contact now. Emma stops herself from dipping her mouth into Regina’s cleavage, which is like, the biggest calamity when Regina’s breasts are right there. And her nipples -

“Not needed, huh?” Emma says and climbs up to kiss Regina’s neck instead.

Regina responds with an appreciative hum, tilting her head back as she braces her hands over Emma’s shoulders. Emma has always loved Regina’s voice.

And it’s deeper and hoarser than usual when Regina says, “You can be as rough as you’d like.”

Emma groans into Regina’s neck.

Her thoughts are beyond clarity at this point. She’s sucking at the soft patch of skin between Regina’s neck and shoulder when Regina rocks forward, then again as she slowly rolls her hips back and forth, all but riding Emma’s thigh. Emma momentarily ( _sinfully_ ) wonders what it would feel like if Regina wasn’t wearing any underwear, if there weren’t any barriers between them to stop Emma from feeling the slick slide of Regina’s movements against her skin.

“Harder,” Regina urges.

_God._

The word is caught on a slight choke, as Emma swirls her tongue around the shell of Regina’s ear, nibbling on the sensitive strip below it.

The command sets Emma’s skin ablaze. She tightens her grip around Regina’s ass and presses her down, prompting her to slide her hips more vigorously. Once again Regina’s hand shoots out and slams into the headboard behind them, retaining their balance, but the rocking doesn’t stop.

Regina’s grinding motions become faster, jerkier, and she has a hand weaved in Emma’s hair and Emma -

Emma is so turned on right now she doesn’t know what to think.

“Emma,” Regina puffs out breathlessly. Emma takes the skin along Regina’s tendon and scrapes her teeth over it, causing Regina to exhale in frustration.

“ _Emma_ . Stop treating me like I’m made of _glass_ and -”

Emma bites down hard, hard enough for the words to sputter in Regina’s throat. Emma yanks her closer with one last thrust, the sputter in Regina’s throat fizzling into a broken sob.

Regina’s whole body locks for a moment; she’s quivering in Emma’s hold, her forehead clammy pressed against Emma’s. Emma lets her hands slide back to Regina’s waist.

Emma’s thigh is soaked.

“Did you just…?” Emma doesn’t finish the question. She’s too busy staring at Regina in amazement.

“Yes,” Regina says.

The look on Regina’s face when their eyes meet almost stops Emma’s heart. She doesn’t know what to compare it to since it’s not a look Emma has seen often, but if she could guess, Emma would say it’s a look of pure, concentrated affection.

The deep warmth that spreads throughout Emma’s chest is fucking terrifying.

But she slips her fingers gently through Regina’s hair, her thumb grazing over Regina’s cheek. Regina dips her head in and their mouths connect for the umpteenth time that night.

The kiss is slow. Languid. But fond and filled with so many unspoken feelings that Emma doesn’t know what to do with.

The little breath of anticipation that Regina sucks in when Emma nips at her lip is disrupted by Zelena’s ungodly snore from the living room.

Regina breaks away. Emma knows the moment is gone as soon as she does.

“We should get some sleep,” Regina says.

The disappointment is crippling. While Emma might be horny as hell, she would much rather be sitting here, leisurely kissing Regina all night.

“Nothing’s... changed, right?” Emma asks. It’s not what she means to say. It sounds even dumber in her head now that she thinks about it.

Of course things have changed. _Everything’s_ changed.

“You mean are we still friends?”

“Yeah, I guess… Friends who casually make out?” Emma suggests.

And give each other orgasms, apparently.

Regina smacks her forearm, which is met by laughter on Emma’s part. The mood is lighter now.

This she can do.

“Yes, Emma,” Regina says, and there’s an almost wistful edge in her tone that Emma catches. “We’re still friends.”

Friends.

Regina hesitates, and then emphasizes this point by leaning over and kissing the tip of Emma’s nose, which _okay_. It’s a little less casual and so not friendshippy at all.

Emma’s stomach flutters.

“Now go to sleep before I have to bind you to the bed.”

That mental image really isn’t helping Emma’s case, either.

Emma thinks about it, even as Regina moves off of her and settles back onto her side of the bed. Even when Emma’s thigh is still damp and she wants to throttle herself for being such a _fucking idiot_.

.

.

Even when Emma wakes up the next morning and finds Regina gone.

Because _friends_.

The space beside her is still vaguely warm, as if Regina’s departure was recent. It isn’t until Emma is grumpily sliding back across the bed - because it’s _her_ spot, not because she wants to be able to smell Regina on the sheets - when Emma discovers the black, silky panties hidden beneath the pillow.

Emma picks them up, instantly identifying them as Regina’s from the night before. She gapes.

Regina left her panties here.

She left her fucking panties underneath Emma’s pillow.

For the ever loving _fuck -_

Emma groans and collapses face-first back onto the mattress, the stupid panties bunched up in her fist. The smell of Regina’s shampoo overwhelms her. Much like the fact that she has Regina’s panties bunched up in her fist in the first place.

Friends.

They're  _friends_.

 _Friends my ass_ , Emma thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this long chapter will make up for the super long delay?
> 
> Getting this done was a major pain in my ass no joke lol. And I'm self-conscious about this chapter so please let me know what you guys think, as well as point out any errors. I hardly ever do any proofreading.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your support. It truly means a lot.
> 
> Rating shift alert M -- E

Emma doesn’t get to dwell on her misery in bed like she’d originally planned to.

She finds herself at Granny’s that same morning, nursing a cup of coffee that tastes about as bitter as her soul, but also _vanilla-y_. Which… definitely doesn’t pertain to her life at the moment.

No one can ever say Emma’s life is _vanilla_.

It had been Henry who ordered it for her. Henry, who had dragged her out of bed to have breakfast, and decidedly not out fishing with David like he said he’d be doing.

 _Henry_ , who is staring at her from across the table with the smuggest look she’s ever seen on his fifteen-year-old punk face.

Emma sighs and puts the mug down. “What?”

He lifts his own mug of cocoa and shrugs. “What?”

“Don’t give me that _what_. I know you have something to say, kid. So say it.”

“Who says I have anything to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, pretending to think on it for a moment. “As if that smirk you’ve had on your face all morning doesn’t clue me in - just - _why_ are you _smiling_ at me like that? Stop it.”

He nearly chokes on his drink in his haste to put it down, but Emma manages to catch that smug little grin of his as he does - and _god_.

Emma is ready to pull her hair out in frustration.

“It’s nothing,” Henry insists.

“Liar.”

He shoots his hands up in exasperation. “Okay. Okay, I’ve just been… thinking.”

“Go on,” she drawls.

“About you,” Henry responds, and then pauses for extra effect. “And Mom.”

Emma is at the verge of taking another sip from her coffee before nearly spewing it back out.

Instead she coughs violently and says, “Me and Mom _what_?”

“You know,” Henry urges a little uncomfortably as he tries to be subtle about his meaning, but there’s nothing subtle at all about the hand gestures he’s doing.

Whatever the hell _that’s_ supposed to mean.

“Alright, stop right there. Just… don’t ever do that again,” Emma says and rubs her forehead. She feels vaguely queasy all of a sudden. “There’s nothing going on between me and your mom.”

“You sure about that?”

“Uh huh,” she lies.

Henry points to the two-for-one coupon sitting between them on the table. “Because Mom’s had that coupon in her purse for weeks now.”

“It was a _gift_. I need my coffee,” Emma proclaims, cheeks heating up. “Drop it already.”

“Fine.”

Henry picks his mug back up, with a lull in the conversation that would’ve had Emma relaxing back into her booth.

Would’ve - but Henry simply sets his mug back down and pins her with a knowing look.

“You know your room is right next to mine, right?” he says and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “We share a wall. And Mom’s not exactly _quiet_.”

“Oh my god. Stop. _Stop_ ,” Emma exclaims, horrified.

She is so horrified, in fact, that there is almost no horror left to give when the diner door swings open and her mother comes strolling in unexpectedly with Neal.

Behind them, not even twelve hours since they were making out in her bed last night -

Emma sucks in a jagged breath.

Regina.

Emma feels the air fly out of her lungs as quickly as it takes her to realize she is not even remotely prepared for this encounter. She had spent the better part of fifteen minutes staring at the silky, expensive panties Regina had left behind earlier this morning - panties that Emma would normally want to keep for herself if she wasn’t tempted to rub one off like she’s some teenage boy instead.

It had taken fifteen _seconds_ after that to kick the covers off and make her decision.

And sure, the orgasm was nice. Maybe not nearly as nice as watching Regina’s, but it still bears the question.

What happens now?

Are they kissing buddies? Orgasm buddies? _Friends with benefits?_

 _Fuck_ buddies?

Emma has had plenty of those in the past, but somehow the concept of fuck buddies is different with Regina. It’s too… vulgar.

Too _unrefined_.

Regina deserves so much more than that. She deserves happiness and love and a thousand more orgasms.

“Henry,” Emma mutters once her thoughts aren’t a curdled mess and she sees Snow spotting them from the entryway. “Why is Snow walking towards us? Why is your _Mom_ here?”

“Um… I might’ve told them to come,” Henry says sheepishly.

“ _Why_?”

“All-you-can-eat waffles today, Mom,” he says and springs up from his seat. “I’ll grab the syrup!”

As soon as he leaves, her mother comes swooping right in in a rush of joy and excitement that should be illegal this early in the morning.

“Was coming to Granny’s really necessary, sweetheart?” Snow says, tugging on a struggling Neal. “We could’ve just had breakfast at your apartment. But Henry said you insisted we all meet up.”

Emma blinks owlishly. “That’s - I didn’t -”

“Not that I mind, of course,” Snow hurriedly explains. “Regina, on the other hand…”

“And luckily I’m the part of the family lineage that _doesn’t_ eat like a child,” Regina adds in as she slides into the opposite end of the booth. Emma stops breathing for a second and stares. “I’ll have a salad.”

“For _breakfast_?” Snow asks, aghast.

Henry chooses that moment to return with a quick greeting - syrupless, probably because there were bottles of syrup on the table already - before sliding into the empty seat beside Emma, essentially shoving her into the far wall.

Her eyes flick up and accidentally catch Regina’s gaze. They’re sitting directly across from each other now.

Of fucking course.

Emma blushes hotly and looks away.

“You’re not having a salad, Regina,” Snow continues. “At least have some eggs and bacon.”

“What are you, my mother?” Regina snips back.

“More like mother-in-law,” Henry mumbles absently, at which point Emma chokes on her own tongue.

She’s about to kick her little shit of a son right in the shin.

“What was that, Henry?” Snow asks.

But Henry simply ducks his head, just as Ruby approaches them to take their orders. “Nothing.”

It’s maddening. Emma glares at him and raises her foot to do just that, except she’s never been very good at direction, and she exaggerates the distance a little. Or a lot.

Either way, her foot ends up sweeping over Regina’s lower calf - Regina, who pauses mid-order and turns to peer at her from across the table, the look on her face totally unreadable.

Emma freezes. For whatever reason, it’s that look on Regina’s face that keeps her foot exactly where it is.

“Regina?” Snow questions.

Regina plasters on a quick smile and turns away. “I’ll have the breakfast platter. Eggs poached. There, happy now?”

“Much,” Snow chimes.

Regina is wearing her special fuck-me heels. Emma knows this now because they’re sharp against her ankle when Regina hikes her foot up, letting it brush slowly up Emma’s calf in that tantalizing way that leaves no question on what’s happening.

They’re playing _footsie_. Like schoolchildren. Only they’re adults and the effect is no less compelling for a pining dumbass like Emma.

“Emma?”

Emma snaps out of her stupor and remembers to breathe in. Her heart is racing.

“Oh, uh… I’ll have waffles,” she tells Ruby, just as Regina skims the front of her heel back down Emma’s calf, pressing it in a tender spot that causes Emma to jerk forward in her booth. “All of them. All the waffles.”

“Mom, are you okay?” Henry asks.

“Fine,” Emma grits out and whips out her phone. She blindly types out a message.

_What r u oding??_

_*dong_

Fuck.

_**DOING_

She waits. Regina’s phone buzzes three times in her purse, and Emma sees the exact moment Regina realizes she is texting her from across the table.

**_Having breakfast._ **

_You know what I mean_

**_Do you want me to stop?_ **

The question catches Emma off guard. She shivers as Regina’s heel slips higher up towards her knee, but doesn’t move away. Her first instinct is to shout out a dissenting no when luckily Snow intervenes.

“Emma, put your phone away. This is family time,” Snow chides. “You too, Regina.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Snow.”

Emma bites back a smile. Her eyes dart up to meet Regina’s and hold there. At Emma’s slight shake of her head, Emma presses back against the foot sliding down her ankle, and something soft settles over Regina’s face. Regina’s lips quirk up before she ducks her head in a way that steals the breath from Emma’s lungs all over again.

Emma hopes her own smile isn’t as fucking dopey as it feels.

_I think you forgot something this morning_

Emma wasn’t intending on bringing up the panty incident, but the curiosity is killing her at this point. She has the memory of last night imbedded so deeply in her head, it’s left behind a sort of longing, a _need_ to -

Okay, so Emma doesn’t know what that need is yet. But if it means getting to kiss Regina again, then like hell is she going to miss out on the opportunity.

“So, Emma,” Snow punctuates firmly, obviously bothered by the lapse in conversation. “What were you and Regina up to last night?”

Emma’s head lurches up so quickly, the whiplash that comes with it makes her wince. “What?”

Snow gives her a confused look. “Last night? Henry said you two spent some time together.”

“The _three of us_ had dinner. With Zelena,” Emma explains uncomfortably, tilting her head towards Henry. “Until this one bailed and Regina and I… went to bed.”

 _Together,_ Emma thinks woefully.

“Oh? And did you enjoy it?”

Emma is mildly horrified.

“ _What?_ ”

This time the look Snow sends her is exasperated. “ _Dinner,_ Emma.”

Next to her, Henry quietly snickers. Regina seems far too amused by it all, if the smirk she isn’t even trying to hide is anything to go by.

Scratch that. Emma is beyond horrified.

“Dinner was _fine_ , okay? We made tacos,” Emma bites out. “They were delicious.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they were,” Henry mutters. Emma nudges him.

“Well,” Snow sniffs slightly, offended. “I’m _sorry_ for wanting to have a conversation about my daughter’s life.”

“Mom,” Emma sighs. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to get her through Snow’s idea of family bonding time. “Why don’t you tell us how your charity case is going? Henry’s been _dying_ to hear all about it.”

Henry’s eyes go wide. “What? No I have -”

Emma nudges him again.

It does the trick. Snow is delightfully distracted in a matter of seconds, oblivious to the glare Henry sends Emma’s way, which Emma is sure is going to bite her in the ass later.

But right now she has more important things to do. She turns back to her phone.

**_Think of it as a parting gift._ **

Hell of a parting gift, Emma thinks, and bites her lip as she types out a response.

_They’re designer French panties fyi. Is your entire lingerie collection just made of gold?_

_They’re worth more than my week’s pay_

**_The first curse had its benefits._ **

**_I can take them back if they make you uncomfortable._ **

**_That wasn’t my intention._ **

Emma silently groans. Uncomfortable. That’s the complete _opposite_ of what Emma is right now. The only thing keeping her self-esteem intact are those fucking panties.

This isn’t how she’d anticipated this conversation panning out.

_No. I’m not uncomfortable._

_But if your plan was to get me off, it worked._

Emma doesn’t realize what she just said until it’s too late. That was definitely supposed to be a private moment between her and her hand.

**_Get you off?_ **

Oh my god.

Emma rubs a hand down her face and wishes this town wasn’t still stuck so far down in the eighties.

_You know._

_Jill off? Guided meditation?_

_Fingerlifting…_

**_Stop speaking gibberish, Emma_ **

**_What the hell does any of that even mean?_ **

Emma wants to cry in mortification.

_Jfc Regina MASTURBATION_

_It means masturbation_

_Getting off is when you come_

_As in… orgasm_

Holding her breath, Emma watches the grey chat bubble on her screen disappear and reappear about five times. She’s going insane.

And then finally -

**_Is that what you did?_ **

**_Did you… come?_ **

_Yes._

Emma inhales shakily and, because she apparently has no fucking filter these days, proceeds to type out -

_Hard._

The quiet intake of breath is barely audible, but Emma hears it anyway. Her head snaps up, the lump in her throat nearly snagging when she catches Regina regarding her from across the table. The weight of her stare is scorching. There’s a sort of carefully contained hunger in her eyes that leaves Emma’s skin feeling hot and prickly.

It’s intense. And more than Emma can handle right now in the middle of Granny’s, so she quickly adds -

_About last night_

**_Yes?_ **

Emma gulps. Here goes nothing.

_I liked it._

_I like kissing you._

_A lot._

This time when Emma looks up, she sees a flicker of emotion behind Regina’s expression that she isn’t sure how to interpret. But the soft, pleased smile that Regina directs at her next is what does it.

Emma’s answering grin is big and goofy.

“At this rate it’s gotten out of hand. People just flog to the internet rather than see a doctor! So I made a new charity function. I’m calling it _Mothers Against WebMD_ ,” Snow explains to Henry, who looks as though he’s about to slam his face onto the table. “I even got my first donation -”

Snow pauses suddenly, her gaze seeking out Emma’s in total bewilderment. “Honey. Why are you stroking my leg with your foot?”

.

.

It’s like this.

If humiliation and disgrace had a name, that name would be Emma and Swan.

She doesn’t raise her leg again all throughout breakfast.

.

.

She doesn’t get to to talk to Regina afterwards, either. Snow ends up dragging Regina off to some baby festival with Neal, which Emma adamantly refuses to go to, while Henry takes off for the station to meet up with David.

“Told you we’d be going fishing,” he’d stated.

Which leaves her… with nothing. It’s Emma’s day off. It’s also Regina’s turn to house Henry for the week and now Emma has an empty apartment, silky French panties, and more sexual frustration and conflicted feelings than she knows what to do with.

So she spends the day cleaning.

It’s not Emma’s preferred way of spending her Saturday, but it does temporarily alleviate her pending migraine when she doesn’t have to dwell on said sexual frustration and conflicted feelings. Or anything Regina-related for that matter.

It works for a little while. By four she has her apartment spotless and her fridge cleared of the week-old chinese food she’d been too lazy to remove. She even sets aside a box of things she’s willing to donate for Snow’s charity cases. There isn’t much, not that she ever had a lot of possessions to begin with. But a couple of scarves and books must be better than nothing.

And by five she has nothing to distract her from scrolling through her messages and debating whether it’s too soon to be texting Regina again. It would definitely be _pathetic_.

But she’s already gone past the point of pathetic, hasn’t she?

Emma doesn’t know. What she does know is that it hasn’t even been eight hours and she already misses Regina, like a sharp ache drilling through her insides and that for sure doesn’t spell platonic. The ache is _needy_ and… longing.

Fucking _fuck_.

Emma is in way over her head.

She chugs back a glass of whiskey and is about to settle in for a lonely night when there’s a tap on her windowsill.

There’s a bird outside her kitchen window. A canary or whatever, with a note attached to its leg and it has Snow’s name written _all over it_. Because god forbid she send text messages like a normal person.

_Don’t forget to add some pots and pans to your donation box._

Emma has her finger slammed over Snow’s number and is talking before Snow can so much as breathe into her phone.

“My _pots_ and _pans_?” Emma asks, thoroughly irked. “You mean the single pan I use to make grilled cheese and that one pot you gave me for Christmas last year? And what’s with the _bird_?”

“Well it’s not like you answer your phone these days. So I thought sending Tweety over would be easier.”

“Tweety?”

“The bird.”

Emma squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Yeah. Of course.”

“So if you have any _extra_ pots and pans you’d like to donate, then you’ll be doing something good for the homeless,” Snow says.

“The homeless?” Emma repeats. “We don’t have any homeless people in Storybrooke, Mom. If we did, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to cook food they don’t have over their invisible ovens.”

There’s a long pause on the other line before Snow finally huffs.

“Fine then. How about socks?”

“I’ll buy some this weekend,” Emma replies and promptly hangs up.

She’s ready to dig out the bottle of vodka she has stashed away in the freezer and make this a black-out-drunk night when Emma remembers she has no idea where she’s supposed to drop off her donation box. She quickly redials Snow’s number and spews words out of her mouth as soon as she picks up.

“Am I dropping this stuff off at your place or did you bribe the nuns again to do your dirty work?”

Again, there’s a long stretch of silence, only this time Emma is confused by it. And then -

“If I was bribing anyone to do my dirty work, I promise you it wouldn’t be the nuns.”

That’s not Snow.

Emma glances at her screen and curses. _Regina_.

“Sorry,” Emma hastily apologizes and brings the phone to her ear. “Your number’s uh... on a favorites list. Right above Snow’s.”

“Hmm,” Regina hums in response, amused. The soft, husky sound of her voice sends a shiver down Emma’s spine. “Above?”

Emma flushes. “You and Henry. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to -”

There’s a sound on the other end that sounds suspiciously like a splash, and Emma raises her brow.

“- your bath?” she finishes.

“You don’t normally call unless it’s an emergency,” Regina explains. She sounds embarrassed. “But yes, I’m in the bath. I just happened to have my phone nearby.”

“Oh.”

There’s a short lull. Emma tries. But she doesn’t even get to count to one in her head before she’s blasted with an image of Regina in the bath, naked, and suddenly it’s too hot in the room.

“Is that… okay?” Regina drawls, and there’s a low tease in the question that leaves Emma squirming.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” Emma all but squeaks and just... this is already turning out to be a fucking catastrophe. “Henry make it back safe?”

“Yes. Smelling like fish and god knows what else. But he’s in his room playing his game.”

“Good. I was getting ready to play my own game of how drunk can you get.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last.

“You’re welcome to come have dinner here, you know,” Regina suggests. The small intake of breath sounds like thunder in Emma’s ear. “I’m making pot roast.”

Emma can’t help but smile. “Does that come with a sobriety pill? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m past the blood-alcohol limit.”

She can practically hear Regina rolling her eyes. “You have magic, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but -”

“Emma,” Regina interjects and it’s so _gentle_. Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever get over Regina saying her name. “You’ve done it before. Just think about where you want to be.”

Where she wants to be - _right now_ Emma just wants to be wherever the hell Regina is, over the bathtub, out of it, especially _in_ it.

But she tries to remember her training and focuses on the manor.

“Okay,” Emma mutters in agreement.

She closes her eyes and feels the familiar pressure of magic in her stomach - the air-sucking _whoosh_ of white smoke, where one second Emma is standing in her kitchen, and the next -

 _Splash_.

“ _Emma_!”

“I - this isn’t -”

She’s knee-deep in a tub of water. Which would be okay if Regina wasn’t staring at her like she’s contemplating ripping Emma’s head off.

And like. If Regina wasn’t naked while contemplating ripping Emma’s head off.

“That was completely accidental. I can explain,” Emma hastily says and shit.

 _Shit_.

Regina is _naked._

Not that she can see much, but Emma is having some trouble prying her eyes away from Regina’s cleavage anyway, submerged under soapy water. Or the droplets gliding across her bare collarbones and full breasts -

“Emma. You have three seconds to get out before I incinerate you,” Regina says slowly.

Considering Regina’s vein is protruding from her forehead, Emma believes her.

She fumbles out of the bathtub, but not before casting another apologetic glance.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

But Regina doesn’t _look_ angry anymore. Instead she’s watching Emma, calmly amused, her eyes raking over Emma’s soaked clothes in a concentrated manner. And then she does something that is totally unexpected and… kind of breaks Emma, honestly.

She stands up.

“If you’re willing to wait five minutes, I can get you some dry clothes,” Regina offers, and casually squeezes the water from her hair.

“Uh.”

It hits Emma like a cement block. A really fucking heavy one at that.

She’s imagined Regina naked plenty of times in the past, but the bigger picture is - it’s a whole different story when it’s the real thing. Emma drinks in the sight of breasts and nipples and stomach and _skin_ \- _so much of it_ \- before she squeezes her eyes shut.

And trips on her way out of the bathroom.

“I’ll wait outside!”

.

.

So yeah. Emma has her back against the door and a hand over her face and it’s all one gigantic shitshow.

But that, friends, is how Emma sees Regina Mills naked for the first time.

And at some point in her life, maybe if she was young and stupid again, she would’ve gladly gotten the whole experience tattooed on her ass.

 _No Regrets._ That’s what it would say.

.

.

By the time Regina steps out of the bathroom, clad in a satin bathrobe tied around her waist, Emma is sitting on the edge of a chair like a wet dog. Regina takes one look at her dripping form and tosses her a change of clothes. It hits Emma in the face.

“Try not to drip on the floor.”

Too late for that. Emma just grunts and heads for the bathroom.

Henry doesn’t even bat an eyelid when he sees her there. He brushes past her to snag a cookie off the kitchen counter and observes her blouse.

“Nice shirt,” he says, taking a bite out of his cookie.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles and lifts the hem to get a look at the tag. “It’s… charmeuse silk.”

“I know. Mom wears it all the time.”

His grin is knowing and obnoxious around the cookie he has in his mouth. Emma flushes just as Regina walks in.

“Henry, don’t eat that. Dinner’s almost ready,” Regina scolds lightly. “Now go set the table, please. Emma -”

Emma freezes up. She feels like she’s the one caught sneaking a cookie when Regina pauses and lets her eyes linger on her for a moment, which only brings back images of Regina naked. That really doesn’t help Emma’s libido.

“Get out the wine?” Emma supplies weakly.

Regina blinks, as if snapping out of some sort of trance, before smiling coyly. “Think you can handle it?”

Emma grins back. “You said it yourself. I’m full of surprises.”

“That you are.”

Henry chokes on his cookie.

“ _Okay_ ,” he says and stumbles out to go set the table. “This is getting weird.”

Emma doesn’t even care.

Fortunately dinner doesn’t come with any mishaps this time around. Overall it’s _nice_. Henry fills in most of the silence, whereas Emma doesn’t dare mention the incident in the bathroom. Neither does Regina. It’s like playing a game of tug of war that Emma never signed herself up for, only she’s beginning to think she doesn’t mind it. Or a game of cat and mouse.

Emma has no idea if she’s the cat or the mouse in this case.

“Can you pass the salt, please?” Emma gestures to the salt shaker by Regina’s plate.

Regina passes it over, and Emma deliberately lets her fingers trail over Regina’s open palm.

That’s another thing Emma doesn’t mind. The lingering touches.

The _tension_.

Regina’s eyes shoot up and bore into Emma with a fixated stare, one that causes the fine hairs on the back of Emma’s neck to rise.

Emma has to stop herself from leaning over the table and swiping her tongue over that fucking lip scar.

“You staying the night, Mom?” Henry asks.

Emma almost forgets about the salt shaker she now has in her hand and now has no choice but to salt up her potatoes.

“I’m… not sure, kid,” Emma admits and glances over at Regina curiously. “That’s up to your mom.”

“We have three guest beds, Emma. You don’t even have to ask,” Regina points out.

Emma’s shoulders slump. Three guest beds. The kind of rich nonsense that makes it really hard to come up with a we-should-share-a-bed excuse.

“Cool. You can play Overwatch with me then. I’ll go set it up,” Henry says excitedly and takes off with his plate.

“What the hell’s Overwatch?”

“You’ll see!”

“No eating in the living room!” Regina calls out before sighing. She gestures to the cup he left behind. “Pass me his glass?”

Emma does, and very nearly drops it when Regina’s fingertips skim over the underside of Emma’s wrist. The light touch makes Emma shiver. That definitely isn’t an accident.

Regina stands up. “Are you finished with that?”

She motions to Emma’s plate. Regina leans over to gather the leftover napkins on the table. The proximity momentarily knocks Emma off guard and for a second her senses are filled with _Regina -_ her perfume, the little bit of cleavage being displayed from this angle, the hand balancing itself over Emma’s thigh. Unnecessarily close, but -

Emma nods dumbly. She hates overly salted potatoes anyway.

Once Regina disappears into the kitchen, it becomes perfectly clear to Emma who the mouse is in this game of cat and mouse.

Emma. Emma’s the stupid mouse.

And Regina’s the cat who ate the fucking canary.

.

.

In the end Emma sucks at Overwatch.

And it’s definitely _not_ because Regina sits on the other end of the couch in a pair of reading glasses for two hours straight that becomes unfairly distracting. But after getting her ass handed to her several times, Emma decides to call it a night.

“I’ll join you,” Regina states and, after receiving two similar sets of raised eyebrows, she scoffs. “It’s not like I have guests over often enough to change the bedsheets. Henry, bedtime -”

“I know, I know. Midnight,” Henry says, too focused on the tv screen to look up.

“And not a minute later,” Regina adds sternly.

“It’s the weekend, Regina. Not like he doesn’t stay up past three reading comics at my place -” Emma starts to say.

Regina’s answering glare is either intimidating or a major turn-on. Or both.

“Never mind.”

So Emma proceeds to follow Regina upstairs and takes her sweet time in the bathroom - brushes her teeth with one of the ten toothbrushes stored in packages underneath the sink, moisturizes her face with the fancy moisturizer that Emma is pretty sure shouldn’t belong in a guest bathroom in the first place.

By the time she’s done, Regina is waiting outside her bedroom doorway.

“Sheets are changed. It’s that last room down the hall,” Regina indicates. Her eyes move over Emma’s face hesitantly. “If you need anything -”

“Don’t wake you up. Or you’ll set me on fire.” Emma grins. “See? I know the drill.”

Regina raises a challenging eyebrow, but doesn’t quite succeed in masking a smirk. “We’ll see. Just... try not to destroy anything.”

“I survived seeing you naked, Regina. I think I can handle going to sleep in one piece,” Emma says with a small huff of laughter, before realizing what she just said.

“That - what I mean to say is -”

“You survived?” Regina echoes and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is almost… timid.

Emma stares and can’t help but think it’s so fucking endearing.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry if that was too forward -”

“Don’t be,” Emma says, resolute. “You’re beautiful.”

The uncertainty melts away from Regina’s face at the compliment, turning into something else entirely when her gaze sweeps over Emma’s face in what looks like reverence.

Emma blushes and looks down. “Anyway, I’ll let you get some sleep.”

She turns around and doesn’t manage a full step when Regina stops her -

“Emma.”

Emma pauses and finds Regina still standing by the door, but she has a hand over the knob and she moves aside with an expectant look.

“The bed’s big enough for two.”

Something clicks into place somewhere inside Emma’s ribcage. “You don’t mind the snoring?”

“I think I can get used to it.”

The fact that Regina is implying that this isn’t just a two-time thing does something to Emma’s insides.

“Yeah?”

Regina visibly inhales as Emma approaches, her hand settling over Emma’s shoulder briefly, before rearing back as if the touch is too much.

“ _Just_ to sleep,” Regina advises and glances over at her sternly. “Henry’s room is next door.”

“Hate to break it to you, Regina, but he already knows. My walls are paper-thin.”

“ _What_?”

And Emma just laughs, ducks her head and slips inside.

.

.

Regina’s bed is _soft_. Like, the kind of soft that has Emma wondering if five hundred dollar bedsheets always feel like lying on a pile of fluffy clouds.

Or like lying on five hundred dollar bedsheets.

She thinks this even as she wakes up the next morning to find the spot beside her empty.

Again.

But the dread doesn’t hit Emma like it had before. And maybe the smile on her face makes her an idiot, or maybe an _enamored_ idiot, but the memory of last night remains embedded in her head like a grave marker.

It goes like this.

Emma had made it through an entire seven minutes of awkward silence after Regina shut off the lights before Regina was the first to break it with an aggravated sigh.

“Emma.”

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“ _Thinking_.”

Emma shifted uncomfortably. It’s true that she isn’t the most _restful_ sleeper, but with Regina just two feet away, the amount of fucks Emma had given on keeping the overall mood low and casual had dropped down to zero.

The tension was suffocating.

“Wanna hear a story?” Emma asked.

Another sigh. “This isn’t a sleepover, Emma,” Regina stated, sounding skeptically amused anyway. “We aren’t braiding each other’s hair and exchanging stories like schoolgirls.”

Well. That wasn’t a _no_ either.

“One of the oldest things I owned as a kid was this really ugly teddy bear a foster dad gave me for my birthday one year,” Emma continued. She took the resulting silence as Regina listening. “I named him Frank. Short for Frankenstein. Seriously, you should’ve seen the thing. It looked like something that crawled out of a Rob Zombie movie. I had nightmares for _days_.

“Anyway, after my next foster home, I realized this was it. I wasn’t going to get anything that’s _mine_ , you know? Even if it’s this demon-like teddy bear that I kept hidden underneath my bed. Don’t judge a book by its cover and all. So I put on my big-girl pants and took it out. Curled up with it in bed one night, and the night after that.”

Emma stared up at the ceiling, taking a moment to collect herself as she went on, “One day my foster mom at the time got angry and threw a vase at one of the other kids’ heads. I took Frank and hid in a closet all night and I realized… this bear was my first friend. He’d been there for me when no one else was. And for years after that, I wouldn’t be able to sleep without holding him.”

There was a long pause shortly after Emma finished, where she wasn’t entirely sure if Regina was even awake.

“What happened to it?” Regina asked finally. “To… Frank.”

“One of the boys in a group home ripped his head off and flung him into a river,” Emma said, shrugging. “You know that stuffed bear I have on my bed? That’s Frankie. Guess I like to cuddle after all.”

Regina was silent for a handful of seconds while she absorbed that. Emma tensed her jaw, waiting for _some_ kind of reaction, and it came in the way Regina shifted across the bed like she’d done the night before.

“Come here.”

Emma did, albeit totally confused. But she couldn’t really complain either as Regina shuffled close and settled against Emma’s body, her back pressed warmly against Emma’s front. Now Emma was _really_ confused.

But then Regina had taken Emma’s arm and looped it around her waist, and Emma figured - they’re _spooning_.

“You’re a little spoon,” Emma noted with a shiteating grin. It only felt natural to burrow her face into Regina’s hair. The action earned her a little rub over Emma’s hand, curled against Regina’s stomach.

“Shut up,” Regina mumbled half-heartedly. “You won’t breathe a word of this.”

“Scout’s honor,” Emma promised, smiling into Regina’s neck.

Regina simply linked their hands together and said nothing else.

Now, as she’s loitering down the stairs, Emma guesses this is the part where she silently carries out the walk of shame. Not that there’s anything to be ashamed _of_ , though judging by Zelena’s completely unsubtle smirk when Emma enters the kitchen, she figures she has exactly three seconds before the tormenting begins.

“Don’t you look positively radiant,” Zelena observes, nestling Robyn in her lap.

Okay. Two seconds.

“Late night, Emma? Perhaps you’ll fancy a cup of tea to go with that yellow bed head of yours.”

“It amazes me how you can’t even go five minutes without running your mouth,” Regina rebukes from her place in front of the stove. “I invited you here to _eat_.”

“I’m just having a bit of fun.”

“Then put a sock in it and do it _after_ breakfast.”

At Henry’s silent snicker from the table, Emma wishes she had gone with the walk of shame instead. Even if the air does smell like bacon.

“I should go,” Emma says, reluctant. “I’m covering the morning shift at the station with David.”

“I imagine you’ll be adding that shirt to the collection you’ve stolen, as well?”

Emma peers down. She’s still wearing Regina’s silky chauva- _whatever_ blouse from last night.

“I can go change out of it real quick,” Emma offers sheepishly.

“Or you can bring it by later,” Regina says and wipes her hands over her apron. She steps aside for a moment, only to come back presenting Emma’s clothes in front of her. “Washed and dried. I’m surprised you haven’t passed out already from the lack of blood circulation. These jeans are inhumane.”

Emma takes them with a cheeky smile. “But they make my ass look great.”

Regina looks at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation. “Indeed they do.”

Emma isn’t expecting that response. She isn’t expecting the rush of warmth in her chest that comes with it either, or the way Regina is _still_ looking at her with that same tender expression.

So Emma doesn’t think when she curls a hand over Regina’s neck and draws her in for a soft, sweet kiss.

Apparently Regina isn’t expecting it either - her breath hitches against Emma’s mouth. But she rests her hands over Emma’s sides and pulls Emma in closer, immediately parting her lips. Emma’s heart jumps in her chest. It’s barely been a day and kissing Regina feels like coming up for her first gulp of air.

The barely audible moan that catches in Regina’s throat when Emma pulls away is really fucking tempting. Regina sways forward slightly to follow, her eyes darting across Emma’s face, and Emma just wants to suck Regina’s parted lip and mold their mouths back together for a not-so-innocent kiss.

“Well, that was revolting.”

Both Henry and Zelena are still sitting at the table, watching them with similar bored expressions on their faces.

Fuck. Emma forgot they were even there.

“Right,” Emma says and licks her lips. This can’t get any more mortifying. “Gotta run. Bye!”

And just before she darts out the door, she swears she hears Zelena blurt out in realization -

“Henry, they’re lesbians.”

.

.

It turns out what little solitude Emma does find at the station isn’t much better. David sends her a worried glance as soon as Emma slams Regina’s change of clothes onto her desk - she had to _walk_ all the way from the manor after several failed attempts of transporting herself to the station, completely forgetting the fact that she had left her bug back at her apartment the night before.

“You alright there, kiddo?” David asks. “You look…”

“Like hell?” Emma finishes, collapsing onto her chair.

“I was going to say rough. I can cover you through the afternoon if you need. Snow won’t mind.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Emma sighs and presses the heels of her palms over her eyelids. “I’ll be -”

She doesn’t get to finish.

The doors swing open suddenly and Regina comes striding in, all regal and unexpected and Emma nearly falls out of her chair right then.

Oh no.

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

“Charming, I need to talk to Emma,” Regina demands and fixes David with a dark stare. It’s so frightfully _attractive_ that Emma doesn’t know if she wants that dark stare pinned on _her_.

David gawks nervously between them. “Uh… ok?”

“ _Alone_ ,” Regina all but snarls.

Emma shakes her head in panic, which David promptly ignores as he grabs his jacket.

“Will do. I’ll go do the first morning rounds. Or three,” David hastily says and bids them goodbye, though not before mouthing a silent _sorry_ in Emma’s direction.

The doors slam shut behind him.

And all too soon Regina’s glare is firmly rooted on her. Emma’s scared.

“You,” Regina grinds out slowly, stalking forward as Emma stupidly tries to make an escape. “Oh, you’re not taking the easy way out this time, Swan.”

Emma’s hands are magically glued to the desk then, preventing her from moving. And… it would definitely be kinky if this were any other situation.

“Now that’s just cheating,” Emma mutters.

Regina rounds the desk. “Why do you keep kissing me?”

“See, that’s a very good question that I’d love to answer,” Emma says, “If I knew how. Maybe if you’d detach my _hands_ -”

Emma practically stumbles back from the force of her next pull, her hands no longer bound to the desk. Not that it matters when Regina leans in close, backing Emma up until her ass hits the edge.

“Well?”

“I told you. I like kissing you,” Emma admits, painfully aware of how close Regina is standing now.

Even when Regina is glaring at her like she wants to rip Emma’s head off, she’s still so fucking _pretty._

“I’m sorry I did it in front of Henry,” Emma says. “I’ll stop from now on if that’s what you want -”

Regina actually _growls_ . “ _No_.”

“No?” Emma squeaks.

Regina’s next response is relatively less wordy - she grabs a fistful of Emma’s tank top and yanks her forward.

Their mouths clash in a heated, wet kiss that takes Emma by surprise and makes her knees shake at the same time. She likely would be tumbling to the side if Regina doesn’t press _forward_ instead, pinning Emma by the hips. Emma’s ass bumps into the desk again, digging into the skin between her jeans.

But Emma is at that stage where she doesn’t give a shit even if she tries.

The surprise melts into the sort of mouthwatering need that causes Emma’s thoughts to short circuit altogether. The kiss is deep and hot and dirty, and Emma can’t get enough of it even when her jaw aches and her lungs burn.

Emma’s lips are tingling when Regina pulls away. A noise gets caught in Emma’s throat with the way Regina is staring at her, eyes wide and pupils blown, her own lips red and swollen.

It makes the tiny palpitations in Emma’s chest go haywire.

“No,” Regina finally answers in a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“Okay.”

Their mouths are only an inch apart, warm breath mingling. Emma’s body is on fire. But she lets her fingers glide up Regina’s shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind Regina’s ear.

She nudges her nose over Regina’s.

“Okay,” Emma repeats. “I won’t.”

Regina’s smile is small and fond. Emma is quietly thunderstruck by it.

Emma swallows. Brown eyes follow the movement of her throat, and Emma takes advantage of the temporary distraction to tilt her head in once more for a kiss. She only intends for it to be a slow kiss, like the one they shared this morning, but Regina’s mouth opens against her own, tongue gliding along Emma’s bottom lip before dipping inside.

Regina releases her hold on Emma’s shirt to slip just underneath the hem, to run her hands lightly over Emma’s bare stomach. The touch makes Emma’s breath stagger and she arches into it.

“Fuck,” Emma breathes in a whine.

The press of Regina’s curves, pinning her against the desk is driving Emma _crazy_.

Emma captures Regina’s little huff of laughter in her mouth, swiping her tongue over Regina’s lips as they part and sucking it between her own. Regina’s hands shift further up Emma’s abdomen.

Emma shudders.

“How does this feel?” Regina murmurs and folds an arm over Emma’s waist. She trails a finger up Emma’s spine.

“Good,” Emma manages to husk out.

How does it fucking _feel_?

She feels like she could come from Regina’s innocent touch alone.

“But I don’t think - _god_.” Emma squirms and tips her chin up when Regina’s lips latch onto her throat. “- we should be making out when - anyone can come in -”

Emma almost misses the flick of Regina’s hand from the corner of her eye. A click of the door lock echoes into the station.

Regina chuckles against Emma’s skin. “You were saying?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Regina follows the comment with a light scrape of teeth against Emma’s straining tendon. The warm, wet press of Regina’s open mouth pulls a gasp from Emma. She’s squirming again, seeking some kind of friction - _anything_ to relieve the throbbing ache between her legs. Regina’s nails scrape over her stomach, digging Emma further into the desk.

And then Regina hikes her hands up and _squeezes_ Emma’s breasts.

Another gasp. “ _Regina_.”

Emma threads her fingers through Regina’s hair and draws her upward, tugging her back in for a bruising, demanding kiss. It’s sloppy and wet and maybe too much tongue and teeth, but there’s just the right amount of hunger in it that leaves Emma completely breathless as she pulls away briefly to say -

“You know, I’ve always pictured this happening in your office instead, but I could get used to this.”

Regina’s eyelids flutter. Her stare is intense and slightly confused.

“You’ve thought about this?”

“Well… yeah,” Emma says and shifts her hands to Regina’s waist. The palms on her breasts really aren’t helping Emma’s thought process. “Have you?”

Regina drags her mouth up Emma’s neck again, grazes her earlobe. “I’ve thought about you taking me on this desk. Right here.”

Jesus.

Emma clenches her jaw, Regina’s heated words sinking in. At this rate she’s not even going to make it past the groping.

“Taking,” Emma echoes, her voice strained. “You’ve thought about me... fucking you?”

“Yes, Emma,” Regina says with a hint of exasperation, but her voice is a low husk against Emma’s ear when she adds -

“I’ve thought about you fucking me. Many times.”

 _God -_ what Emma wouldn't give to hear Regina say fuck again.

Regina tweaks her fingers over the fabric of Emma’s bra, nipples hardening beneath Regina’s touch. Emma sucks in a quiet whimper.

“Over,” Regina continues, and skims her teeth over the outer shell of Emma’s ear, “and over again.”

“Regina,” Emma chokes out. _Jesus fucking Christ._

The hot wave of arousal pooling in Emma’s underwear doesn't even compare to the desperate urge to feel Regina everywhere.

Emma abruptly spins them around, reveling in Regina’s surprised yelp. Within seconds she has Regina pressed up against the desk. Sliding her hands over to where Regina has hers gripped against the edge, Emma magically seals them there, after which Regina arches a brow.

Her gaze flicks up to meet Emma’s.

Emma grins. “I'm a fast learner.”

“Touché.”

Regina’s eyes are still on her, silently regarding her with an expression that makes Emma’s stomach turn over. The look is sultry. Ravenous. If Emma can make up a more accurate description for it, she'd say it's the look that will make her ovaries go ‘boom’ right then and there.

Eventually Emma has the sense to move. She notices the way Regina’s chest is heaving as Emma slowly grazes her fingers up Regina’s outer thighs, dipping them beneath the hem of her pretty maroon dress and skirting along bare skin. It’s enough to break the rhythm of Regina’s already shallow breathing.

Emma lifts her up and hoists Regina onto the desk.

A rush of breath escapes Regina’s mouth. One that prompts Emma into pausing as she steps forward in between Regina’s legs. Emma holds her gaze.

“Hi,” Emma murmurs.

She feels like her insides might implode when Regina parts her thighs, hiking her knees up and around Emma’s waist.

“Hi,” Regina says back, and she has a hand raking up Emma’s arm, having unbound them from the edge of the desk. She slips it behind Emma’s neck.

Emma situates herself closer as Regina leans in. “What’re you thinking now?”

At that, Regina wordlessly takes Emma’s hand and slides it between them, dipping it between Regina’s legs.

“See for yourself.”

The first sign of soaked panties has Emma groaning into Regina’s neck. She urges Emma to press her fingers harder against the sodden silk, which Emma does, and Regina is just so warm. And so fucking _wet_. Emma has like, three seconds to control her libido before she loses it right then and there.

“Does that answer your question?” Regina asks and sweeps her hands up Emma’s shirt.

Emma can only respond with a shaky nod. She palms Regina’s cheeks and kisses her soundly, frantically, all lips and teeth and ragged breaths. Regina accepts the sweep of Emma’s tongue with a happy sigh. Emma is going purely by instinct at this point as she cups Regina by her ass and pulls her flush against Emma’s stomach from where her shirt rises up.

And the hot press of Regina’s center against Emma’s skin, mixed with the hoarse moan Regina exhales in Emma’s mouth - the desire - the _need_ to feel Regina fully against her, no barriers, is so intense Emma can’t even _think_ -

Regina nips Emma’s lip in between a sharp gasp, her fingers tightening along Emma’s shoulder blades.

Emma stops.

She’s acutely aware of the warm, slick feeling on her stomach, pressed between Regina’s thighs.

Regina’s underwear is gone.

Emma actually had the audacity to _magic_ it away without realizing.

“That was - I swear that was an accident -” Emma starts to say, embarrassed.

But Regina simply lifts a finger to Emma’s lips.

“Shh, Emma.”

Entranced, Emma observes the half-lidded eyes peering back at her, the tiny furrow between Regina’s eyebrows. Regina’s face is the embodiment of pure concentration, as if holding herself back and failing miserably.

Emma figures that must be the case when Regina begins a slow grind, angling her hips up to meet the slippery glide of Emma’s abdominal muscles.

And then letting out the most obscene moan.

Emma thinks she might simultaneously combust.

“Emma,” Regina says and entwines her fingers into Emma’s hair.

Their mouths slant together, hips rocking and circling, breath coming in quick, unrestrained gasps. Regina has her ridiculous high heels digging painfully into Emma’s backside, drawing her in even closer, but it’s worth every bit of discomfort as Regina claws her way down Emma’s back.

“Emma,” Regina says again and this time it’s the needy rasp in her voice that does it for Emma. “Just fuck me.”

Or maybe it’s hearing Regina say that.

Either way Emma doesn’t wait a second longer. She drops down to her knees, leaves a blazing trail of kisses up the inside of Regina’s thighs, sucks and nips at the tender skin as Regina rocks her hips at nothing but air.

“Emma -” Regina breaks off sharply when Emma’s mouth finally -

 _\- finally_ fastens on her.

The answering groan is gravelly and hands-down the most orgasmic sound Emma has ever heard.

Regina tastes salty and sweet as Emma licks up the length of her, lapping and tracing through Regina’s folds. She draws her tongue over the hardened nub of her clit before sucking on it gently, over and over, savoring every one of Regina’s little moans and breathless encouragement.

And, okay, maybe Henry was right. Regina is not fucking quiet at all.

Emma loves it.

She sinks her tongue deeper into Regina. Her gaze flits up the expanse of Regina’s body, to the white-knuckled hands gripping the edge of the desk, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of Regina’s chest. Emma curls her tongue until the very tip of it is inside her, which only seems to make Regina more frantic. Her hips buck against Emma’s hold.

Emma pulls back only to drag her tongue up through Regina’s wetness, to circle back around her clit and Regina’s thighs are shaking.

“Inside,” Regina says, panting.

Emma obliges, replacing her mouth with her hand, and slowly, very deliberately, eases two fingers inside her.

Emma watches, transfixed, as Regina nearly arches off the desk, sinking further into Emma’s fingers. The sight has Emma sucking in her own strangled groan.

“How’s that?” Emma asks, too far gone to even hide what Regina is doing to her.

Regina tangles her fingers into Emma’s hair, urging her to rise back up. As soon as Emma does, Regina’s mouth is on her, from Emma’s lips to her throat to the spot just below Emma’s ear that drives her insane. Somehow within all of this Emma is still knuckle-deep inside Regina.

“Good,” Regina says into the meager space between their lips. She rolls her hips once more into Emma’s hand, spurring Emma to grab onto the desk and hold Regina down.

“Just good?”

“Well it would feel better if you were moving.”

The snark.

Emma bites back a smile. Using the pad of her thumb to rub circles around Regina’s clit, Emma curls her fingers upward, feeling rather smug when Regina jerks into her with a satisfying mewl. Emma doesn’t relent.

Her next thrust is harder, the force of the movement drilling into the creaking desk beneath them. Regina relinquishes her grip on the edge to clench her fingers over Emma’s shoulders, pelvis bucking into hers. Regina is panting.

“Emma, I’m -”

Regina drives herself up once more, faster into Emma’s hand, and Emma has to steady a knee on the desk with one final thrust. Muscles clamp around Emma’s fingers, everything hot and tight and wet.

Regina cries out. Loud enough to echo off the walls.

Emma wants to memorize the sound, the pinched look of overwhelming pleasure on Regina’s face as her body shudders against Emma. Emma hadn’t been able to see it properly that night in her bedroom. But now she has a front row view and it’s not something Emma will ever be able to get out of her head.

Regina is so fucking beautiful.

Emma is still in awe by the time Regina finishes convulsing around her fingers. Emma’s hand is drenched as she pulls out.

Emma finds she really likes that.

Forehead pressed against the sweat-damp skin of Regina’s neck, Emma raises her head to find Regina gazing back at her. She’s biting back on a soft, lazy smile. But beneath the veneer of lust there’s something immeasurably tender in Regina’s stare. It momentarily makes Emma forget about the dull throbbing between her legs.

Instead it sort of takes Emma’s breath away.

Regina threads her fingers through Emma’s hair, before clamping them around the button of Emma’s jeans and tugging her further onto the desk. Emma can already see where this is going. And she might’ve been more than a little delirious with anticipation, too.

Except the sound of cracking wood gives Emma pause.

“Wait, Regina -”

But it’s too late. The desk gives way underneath them from one side, collapsing, while Regina disappears in a puff of smoke. And yeah, it’s a dick move.

Especially when Emma gets a kneeful of floor during her ungraceful landing.

Regina stands to the side. She actually has the nerve to look grumpy.

“You broke my desk,” Regina says, petulant.

“ _I_ broke it?” Emma gets up. Her ass hurts, and she isn’t sure if there is such a thing as a lady hard-on, but if there is, she definitely has one right now. “You’re the one who dragged me on top. And isn’t that _my_ desk?”

“Everything within the Sheriff’s department is property of the Mayor.”

Emma wants to laugh. “Including me?”

Regina doesn't respond to that, though judging by her expression, she would absolutely say yes. It amuses Emma, so much so that she yields to the wave of affection brewing inside her and steps in close, bringing a thumb to Regina’s lip. She dips her head then and tilts their mouths together.

She feels Regina smile into the kiss. It's effortless, unhurried, with Regina running her fingers up Emma’s biceps and squeezing with every brush of her tongue. It takes every last bit of Emma’s willpower not to deepen it and finish where they left off.

“We should probably stop,” Emma says, a hair’s breadth away from leaning back in and kissing Regina’s lip scar. At the briefest flash of fear in Regina's eyes, Emma hurriedly adds, “For right now. I think my dad might have a breakdown if he walks into… this.”

Emma motions to the desk, and then at the black set of panties she notices are discarded on the floor. She scoops them up with a grin.

“But I'm keeping these.”

Regina arches a brow. “You can't be serious.”

“About as serious as my mom’s crazy obsession with birds.”

If Regina could roll her eyes any further into her skull, she would. But there's a pleased little smile on her face as she smooths out the wrinkles on Emma’s tank top.

She doesn't expect Regina to move her fingers inside Emma’s open fly (how long has her fly been _open?_ ) and dip them between Emma’s legs.

Emma is taken completely off guard.

“Very well,” Regina agrees and pushes two fingers aside Emma’s soaked underwear to glide against her slit. Emma chokes on a gasp. “I suppose I can return the favor later.”

“Y-yeah.”

Emma doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or bitter disappointment when Regina withdraws her hand. But she watches, dumbstruck, as Regina brings those fingers to her mouth and sucks them both clean in a deliberately provocative manner. Emma’s heart is threatening to slam right out of her chest.

This is... so not fair.

They share a look, a small smile curving over Regina’s lips as she turns to leave.

“Tell your father when he comes back that I’ll be the one hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Snow can’t cook a turkey to save her life.”

“Uh huh.”

Emma can’t even recall that it’s November. Her eyes are firmly rooted on Regina’s ass, which is the last thing she sees (and honestly it’s a gift to all of humanity) before Regina ducks out of the doors and leaves.

Emma collapses onto the nearest chair, sighing up into the ceiling. She feels like she’s on cloud nine.

That’s how David finds her twenty minutes later - staring absently at the broken desk in front of her, all the while twirling a pair of lacey panties in her hand.

“Uh…” David flicks his gaze between the panties and the desk. “Dare I ask?”

“Girl talk. Regina was just giving me some lingerie suggestions.”

“And the desk?”

“Termites.”

“Huh,” David says, thoughtfully, and shrugs his shoulders. “Better tell Regina that.”

“Oh, I will.”

And the promise of it, the certainty - even with the strange look David gives her - has Emma slipping the panties into her back pocket with a dopey grin.

That she will.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone.
> 
> First off I want to say I'm sorry for the wait. I lost my mojo after the finale and writing wasn't all that appealing to me as a result. I had so much hope for swan queen happening, and so to see both that and Emma's character sidelined really did a number on me.
> 
> But I'm back and should hopefully have this finished up by the end of this year. In the meantime, happy belated Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, New Year etc.
> 
> Half of this was written on my phone. And probably that same half has not been proof read. Please let me know if you see any major errors.

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Snow decides to bake gingerbread cookies.

Emma hadn’t questioned it when her mother called her over that afternoon to help prepare the remaining dishes. But now, as the waft of cinnamon drifts through the kitchen, Emma is truly beginning to question Snow’s sanity.

“Mom. They’re for Christmas,” Emma had said in exasperation, wiping Neal’s mouth with one of Snow’s ugly bird aprons. It was the closest thing she could find at the table.

She was doing everyone a favor, to be honest.

“Gingermen are Christmasy. They’re not for Thanksgiving.”

Snow only glanced at her in outrage. “Says who?”

“Every Christmas movie ever made.”

Eventually Emma had given up trying to convince her that the festivities are all a ruse anyway to hide the history of the Native American genocide -

“Really, Emma?” Snow sighs. “I teach _fifth_ graders. I swear, you’re turning about as grumpy as Regina these days.

\- and hearing Regina’s name come out of Snow’s mouth is enough to suck the air out of Emma’s lungs and drop the subject altogether.

And that? _That_ presents a problem. Because if Emma can’t so much as whip out a retort whenever Regina is casually mentioned, then she’s sunk herself into a hole far bigger than she imagined.

Emma sucks in a breath.

She hasn’t seen Regina since that morning at the station.

That’s not entirely true - she has seen Regina in passing, whether it was to drop Henry back off after school, run into her at the store, or listen to her argue with Snow over the phone. Each time wasn’t very different.

Regina would smile and greet her politely. Like _friends._ As though the last week and a half never happened. As though they hadn’t made out more times than Emma can keep track of at this point.

That’s the before impression.

The _after_ one is Regina dropping the polite facade as soon as no one is looking.

Take the grocery store, for example.

It was a coincidence. It’s not like Emma had planned on being flagged down by both her son and Regina who, conveniently enough, was holding a smile as impartial and amiable as the last. Not quite the politician’s smile, but Emma fucking hated it anyway.

“I’ll go grab the ketchup,” Henry stated while Emma stood dumbly to the side.

“Check the organic aisle,” Regina said noncommittally.

“Right, because ketchup is _so_ gourmet.”

Emma can’t take the credit for that one. The sass was all Regina, and certainly not appreciated judging by the pinched frown she threw Henry’s way.

“He kinda has a point. Who goes to the organic aisle for ketchup?” Emma pointed out.

Which was a mistake, she realized, because all too soon Regina’s eyes were on her. Emma watched in astonishment as Regina’s face went from irritated to something almost… coy.

Exhibit number one.

Yeah, it was definitely coy. And it made Emma’s heart sputter right into her ribcage.

“Did you need something, Emma?”

If Emma wasn't already so flustered by Regina’s presence, she might've taken it as a good sign that Regina just said her name in a totally unsubtle way. Like a purr, really.

It was kind of hot.

“Um… baby food. For Neal.”

“He’s three, Emma. He stopped eating baby food when he was one.”

“Oh.”

At that, Regina huffed out a laugh that reminded Emma of roaming hands and the taste of Regina’s lipstick. Things she really _shouldn't_ be thinking about, especially when they've yet to establish any ground rules on what _this_ is.

God forbid they communicate like two responsible adults.

“Snow failed to mention that part,” Emma mumbled.

Regina simply hummed, “I'd say it's fairly common knowledge,” before stepping in close.

Close enough to smell the sweet, floral scent of Regina’s perfume and the brutal temptation that came with it. Emma’s thoughts short circuited for a moment as Regina reached for the top shelf, stopping short within touching distance. And _fuck,_ did Emma want to do just that.

“Try this,” Regina offered, holding out a box of crackers. Neal’s favorites.

Emma could barely pay attention, but moved to grab it. “Thanks,” she breathed out.

“You’re welcome.”

The dark red of Regina’s lipstick drew Emma’s gaze in like a magnet. Whatever Regina was going to say after that must have died in her throat, because she seemed to falter. Her eyes darted across Emma’s face in a way that could only be described as expectant. Yearning. It was making Emma’s breath catch a little in her throat - all she had to do was lean over and take Regina’s mouth in -

“Moms. Seriously?”

It was Henry, standing by the shopping cart with a bottle of organic ketchup. He looked disgruntled.

“Can’t you guys at least wait until _after_ we leave the store? Or like, maybe not in front of the baby Jesus statue. Pretty sure Snow would have a fit.”

Emma blinked. Ironically enough, there was a statue of baby Jesus sitting on the shelf behind them. Huh.

Fate had a funny way of reminding Emma of all the dirty, sacrilegious things that tunnel through her head.

Henry grumbled something about snagging another bottle of ketchup before disappearing once more, prompting Regina to take a step back and recompose herself. Emma’s gut twisted in disappointment.

She felt the heat of Regina’s gaze transfixed on her just as she was able to regain her bearings. “What?”

“You're staring.”

Emma blushed, suddenly defensive. “No I wasn’t.”

“You were,” Regina said, amused. “You still are.”

“Yeah? You were staring first.”

The chuckle that resulted was enough to set Emma’s body aflame. “Well. I do like what I see.”

Emma’s jaw slackened. Before she could even justify the rampaging thoughts in her head - is this _flirting_? Is this what it’s always going to feel like flirting with Regina Mills? - Regina glided past her, the smell of flowery perfume hitting Emma square in the face.

“I take it you’ll be joining the rest of the Charming clan at my home this week?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Regina said, complete with a knowing half-smile that certainly _looked_ teasing and just about went straight to Emma’s underwear. “I look forward to it then, Em-ma.”

Fuck.

There was an entire .5 seconds where Emma’s limited chill nearly evaporated, but then Regina was gone, disappearing into the next aisle. Emma hastily grabbed another box of crackers.

Flash forward to _now_ , Emma’s come to one conclusion.

She’s a pining sack of shit who really likes hearing Regina say her name.

“Emma,” Snow says sternly. “Are you even listening to me?”

So caught up in her thoughts, Emma doesn’t realize she has a spoon hanging halfway in the air between her and Neal. She drops it into Neal’s plate.

“What? Of course I am.”

“Then what did I just say?”

Emma’s lips part before she presses them together in hesitation. “Uh.”

Snow actually has the audacity to look smug by that. “That’s what I thought.”

“Oh come on. You caught me off guard.”

“Emma,” Snow sighs disapprovingly, and this time Emma _is_ paying attention. “This isn’t the first time, you know. I’ve been trying to be a good mother and give you space these last few days, but - oh, _barnacles_. Enough is enough.”

Emma recoils slightly, her face scrunching up in utter confusion. “Did you just say barnacles?”

“You’ve been off in your own world for days now and I am losing my patience, dagnabbit.”

“Okay, Mom. Just chill out for a minute and… maybe stop saying those words. No one says that.”

Snow purses her lips. “You’re not listening.”

“I _am_ listening.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“ _Nothing’s_ wrong!” Emma declares loudly, the frustration raw in her voice as she stands up. “Maybe if you stop attacking me without explaining what you’re going on about, we could have a civil conversation.”

“Sweetheart, you have to understand. I’m just worried,” Snow says. “And not just for you, either. Even Regina has been acting strange lately and I can’t help but wonder - see. _There_. You did it again.”

Emma wants to smash her face into the table. “Did what?”

“You made a face when I mentioned Regina,” Snow tells her and furrows her brow. “Are you two fighting again? I thought you were getting along.”

“We are,” Emma grits out. _A little too much_.

“Then what is it?”

Emma freezes. She squares her shoulders, silently staring at Snow with the same sort of defiance she would present in the past, when she was fifteen years old and standing up to her drunken foster dad.

But it’s not the same. There’s an odd sheen of understanding in Snow’s eyes the longer Emma doesn’t answer, until finally Snow nods.

“I shouldn’t have pushed,” she acknowledges softly, which is… a real fucking plot twist. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

She turns back to the stove, adding over her shoulder, “I worry about you, sweetheart. And I understand that sometimes you need time to yourself before you can talk about your problems. Just know that I’m always here if you ever want to talk -”

“I had sex with Regina.”

A pan drops, drops to the floor with a loud _clank_. And suddenly the stove is on fire.

“Oh!” Snow shrieks and begins fanning out the flames with a mitten, which only seems to make it worst. “Oh, oh, oh, _oh.”_

“ _Mom._ ”

“Oh fiddlesticks. Son of a nutcracker. Oh dear. Oh, oh, _oh_ ,” Snow continues screeching.

Emma has had enough. With a wave of her hand, a pool of water materializes in the air and quells the flames. Stunned silence stilts the air between them. Snow momentarily lays a hand on her chest before she releases it with a short, choppy laugh.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says and breathes out another laugh. “For a moment there I thought you said -”

Emma legitimately can't help herself. “I had sex with Regina.”

The stove bursts into flames again. Snow screeches.

“Oh, oh, _oh -_ ”

“For fuck’s sake. _Mom!_ ”

.

.

They never do talk about it.

Emma leaves as soon as the second fire is put out. The gingerbread men are scorched beyond recognition. Emma doesn’t mind, to be honest. But that’s how on this chilly Wednesday afternoon, the 22nd of November, that Emma unintentionally breaks her mother.

.

.

Like Christmas, Emma was never a fan of Thanksgiving.

Unlike Christmas, at least the social workers used to pity her enough to give her _some_ sort of badly wrapped gift every year, donated from the local community church. Emma usually never stayed long enough in one place to experience a traditional Thanksgiving.

So it was the soup kitchen with the rest of the broken foster kids.

This year, though, Emma is determined to make the most of it. She has a family now, and a home. And an uncanny infatuation with the other mother of her son whose home, scarily enough, she’s about to walk into.

Everything is just fine.

“Mom, stop fidgeting. You’re making _me_ nervous,” Henry says, tugging at his button-down.

They’ve only been standing in front of Regina’s door for the better part of seven seconds and Emma is already at the verge of losing her chill.

Henry had gotten ready at their apartment, with the claim that he’d left his favorite collared shirt in the closet from his last Homecoming dance. He’d walked out of the bathroom looking all spiffy, taken one look at Emma’s skinny jeans and tank top, and groaned.

“Okay. You can’t wear that.”

Emma glanced down at her attire, a little offended. “Why not?”

“Because Mom’s holiday dinners are like walking into a conservative wine tasting party. Trust me. I’ll fix this.”

That’s how Emma finds herself cradling a bag of potatoes, dressed immaculate in a white dress shirt, black tailored pants, and a fucking skinny tie.

“Don’t you think the tie’s a little too much?” Emma asks for the third time, glancing at Henry askance. It’s cold outside and she’s wearing heels sharp enough to cut through steel. They pinch like hell.

“Probably. But Mom will like it,” Henry tells her, cheeky.

“And the roses? What the hell do I need _roses_ for?”

“It's tradition, Mom. Duh. You’re supposed to bring them to the host of the party as a gift.”

“That sounds like a load of shit.”

“Does it matter? You left them in the car,” Henry says, rolling his eyes. “By the way, your tie’s undone.”

“ _What_?”

“Just kidding.”

The door opens then, revealing Regina on the other side and Emma hardly has the sense to lift her jaw from off the ground when their eyes meet. Regina _definitely_ falters this time. She blinks quickly, a slow smile spreading across her face as she drinks Emma in. And Emma does her own once-over because _god_ \- Regina is wearing that blue dress that clings to every part of her body.

Emma’s instantly reminded of her raging female blue balls.

Henry jabs Emma in the ribs. “Told you so,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, before turning to Regina brightly, “Hey Mom.”

“Well don’t you look handsome,” Regina replies and pulls him in for a warm hug. “Drinks are on the counter. Remember, no cider.”

“Got it.”

“Or wine. Or anything remotely alcoholic. I’ll be watching.”

“Mom,” Henry whines sulkily before sliding past her. Emma would have laughed, but she can’t be sure it won’t come out high-pitched and a little insane.

“Hi,” Emma offers in greeting, which is the most she can do when the door closes behind her and Regina is standing within touching distance again. “You look… wow.”

“Eloquent as always,” Regina says with some humor, but her eyes are sweeping over Emma again, appraisal unsubtle. It makes Emma’s skin prickle in warmth.

“But so do you.”

Emma can’t help but grin. “You think so?”

Regina steps closer, hand outstretched as though preparing to help Emma out of her jacket. Instead Regina’s fingers walk up the length of Emma’s tie.

“I do. Though to be fair, if it were up to me,” she tugs gently. “You’d be wearing nothing but this tie.”

Emma holds her breath.

Apparently Henry’s call was a good one.

“Emma.”

Emma has to forcefully tear her gaze from Regina as her mother approaches them. She holds in a grunt.

Why are they _always_ being interrupted?

Regina steps back, as though she wasn’t undressing Emma with her eyes just a second ago, though her hand does linger on the spot just above Emma’s lower back.

“There you are. Did you bring the potatoes?” Snow asks.

Emma dumbly holds up the bag of potatoes in one hand, which Snow takes with a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness. Regina, do you think you could -”

Snow pauses suddenly. Her wide eyes flick from Regina to Emma to the hand still sitting casually over Emma’s hip, as if realizing for the first time that they’re in the room. Together. Emma remembers the incident in the kitchen yesterday and wants to sink into a hole.

“Well?” Regina urges when Snow remains silent. “I don’t have all day, Snow. Spit it out.”

That jolts her out of her wide-eyed gaze as Snow lets out a suspiciously high-pitched laugh.

“Oh, nothing. You know, I forgot what I was going to gay.” Her smile freezes. “ _Say_. Say. I forgot what I was going to say.”

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. That lesbiagna won’t take itself out.”

Regina’s brow arches up to her hairline. “The what?”

“Lasagna. I said lasagna,” Snow hastily amends and darts away with the bag of potatoes and a dismayed ‘ _oh dear god_.’

As soon as she’s gone, Regina turns her bewildered stare to Emma.

“What the _hell_ did you say to your mother?”

Emma raises her palms up in a yielding manner. “What makes you think I did anything?”

“Because I _know_ you, Swan,” Regina says, pressing one hand to Emma’s sternum and backing her into the door. Briefly, Emma’s eyes drop to Regina’s mouth. To the full, red-tainted lips Emma is having a hard time not envisioning her mouth against.

“Yeah?” Emma swallows, flicking her eyes back up. It’s a quiet challenge.

“Yes.”

“How well?”

Regina holds her gaze, letting it wander down to Emma’s mouth and back up. The hand on Emma’s chest shifts over to the end of her tie.

“Well enough to know you’ve wanted to kiss me for days now.”

Oh.

Emma swallows again, letting the words sink in between them as Regina finally pushes away slightly and stands back.

“Now. Are you going to let me take your coat?”

.

.

.

.

Two things happen after that.

“Emma, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Regina bristles. “Unhand me.”

Emma imagines she might actually die today judging by the fury engulfing Regina’s face. Emma doesn't quite think it through either way as she pulls Regina around a corner in the empty parlor and presses her into the nearest wall, not an inch separating their bodies.

That's the first thing.

Regina’s eyes flit across Emma’s face, pupils wide, before settling on her mouth. “Are you insane? What-”

Emma tugs her closer by the waist. In that split second Regina’s words sputter in her throat before their lips meet.

And that's the second.

Emma finds the weight in her chest lifting when immediately, Regina’s mouth opens under hers, pliant and eager and soft. Emma can probably melt into the tug and pull of Regina’s lips, into the way Regina’s fist curls into Emma’s hair and brings her closer. Into the light scrape of teeth tracing along Emma’s lower lip.

It's utterly intoxicating.

Emma can't get enough.

Sucking in a deep breath, Emma draws back momentarily to get some air, only to be pulled back in as soon as she does. It's Regina who mashes their lips together this time. Needy and fast. And Emma has to stifle a laugh that morphs into a groan deep in her chest. The hand that's woven in Emma’s hair skirts down to her neck, palming it gently.

Emma isn't even aware that her hands are sliding over the curve of Regina’s hips and drifting underneath her dress.

At least not until she has Regina hoisted up against the wall, arms leveled beneath firm thighs.

The abrupt movement causes Regina’s grip to tighten. A breath leaves her in a huff that Emma happily swallows, just as Regina pulls away.

A beat passes.

There’s a pink flush covering Regina’s face and neck that Emma finds so fucking endearing. Hooded eyes find Emma’s in the minuscule space between them. They're glassy and so pretty and… fuck. Emma could easily get lost in them.

“You're right,” Emma whispers. She lightly nudges her nose against Regina’s. “I’ve wanted to do that for days now.”

Regina drinks in Emma’s face with a strange look that Emma can't exactly pinpoint. But Regina doesn't hesitate to wrap one hand in Emma’s dress shirt, the other cupping her jaw to bring Emma back in for a slow and lazy kiss. It's sweet and tender, and it fills Emma with warmth.

She feels the stretch of Regina’s smile against her mouth, even when Emma moves to dotting kisses along Regina’s jawline.

“Emma,” Regina laughs huskily and tips Emma's chin up before she can move to Regina’s lip scar. Shit. “You're insatiable.”

“Can you blame me?”

Regina doesn't respond to that. Her gaze continues to linger, though. And Emma feels the weight of that stare as Regina reaches out to brush a strand of hair from Emma’s face, thumb brushing over her cheek.

The gentle affection in that touch sends Emma’s heart racing. She wants to lean over and capture Regina’s mouth again. She wants to finally bite the bullet and ask all the unanswered questions she’s too afraid to ask. Like what does any of this _mean_? Why does Regina keep looking at her like that? Why does kissing Regina feel like free-falling off a mountain cliff?

Why does it feel like there isn't a part of Regina that Emma isn't in love with?

Emma freezes.

The thought short-circuits in Emma’s brain so quickly, she can't keep her expression from twisting into panic.

“Emma?” Regina says. Her pretty eyes search Emma’s face and _fuck._ Emma has to stop thinking about how pretty they are. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Emma lies. She feels like she's going to puke. “Just a little nervous about dinner. First real Thanksgiving and all.”

Okay. So it's only a _partial_ lie.

Regina hums. “Between the unCharmings and my sister, I'm sure it'll make for an unforgettable afternoon.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

As if Emma needed any further prompting, the door slams open in the foyer and in comes Zelena’s booming arrival.

“Gobble gobble. MUMMY’S HERE!”

The sigh that leaves Regina’s mouth hits Emma’s face in a puff of air. “And speak of the devil,” she mutters, her hands coming to rest over Emma's shoulders. “There's my cue.”

Emma doesn't voice her disappointment. She leans away to give Regina space to move, only to be tugged right back in by the end of her tie. Emma doesn't even get a word out before Regina’s hot mouth is on hers again, wet and frantic. Fingers clutch at the nape of Emma’s neck, tangling in her hair.

It goes on and on that when Regina finally does release her, Emma’s back is pressed against the wall somehow and her knees are so weak she's about ready to fall on her ass.

Emma nearly wheezes. Surprise doesn't even cover it.

Regina offers no actual explanation. Her gleaming eyes flick over Emma’s lips one last time before she nods, apparently satisfied.

“Don't forget to leave your coat in the closet,” is all she says as she strides away. Emma watches her leave as she’s left slumped against the wall, dazed and confused.

She lets her head fall back with a groan. Happy fucking Thanksgiving it is.

.

.

.

They gather in the living room first.

As it turns out, Emma _did_ show up overdressed, judging by the jeans David has on and the oversized sweater Snow is wearing - which has a turkey donning a Christmas hat on it. As far as ugly holiday sweaters go, this one takes the cake.

She doesn't have it in her to be upset about it, even if Emma’s feet are starting to pinch in her heels and it's a pain in the ass having to avoid staining her white dress shirt. She can't complain. Because she’s had a little wine and she’s finally starting to relax -

“Is there a reason why my sister keeps looking at you as if she wants to - oh. I don't know,” Zelena drawls. “Fuck you senseless?”

Emma wheezes into her drink. It sinks through her shirt in a dribble of red wine. For the everloving -

“Sorry. _What?_ ”

But it's true. As hard as Emma’s been _trying_ to relax for the last hour, no amount of appetizers or wine can negate the fact that her eyes always end up finding Regina’s. Whether it's from across the room or when Emma pretends to act normal as Regina passes by to socialize, Emma would seek her out, only to find Regina’s gaze already locked on her.

It's both nerve wracking and exhilarating.

Not so much when it's Zelena pointing it out.

“I mean, _really._ If you were a bloody tree you best believe she’d be climbing _that_ faster than _-_ ”

“ _Zelena_ ,” Emma groans. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Are you daft?”

“No…”

“Then see for yourself.”

She really _shouldn't_. And for a moment Emma almost has herself convinced that she can just ignore Zelena and get the hell out of there. By a moment, she means 2.5 seconds.

Emma musters at least some of her dignity as she glances over to the kitchen, where Regina seems to be in a heated argument with Snow. Whatever it is, the point is Regina isn't looking at her, and Emma's about to shut down the accusation altogether.

But then Regina _does_ meet her gaze, and the corner of Regina’s mouth tips up into a smirk. She’s staring at Emma from over the rim of her wineglass with this look that Emma can't begin to describe.

“Ugh. There goes my bloody appetite.”

“Huh?”

“You're drooling.”

Emma blinks and dabs at her mouth with the back of her hand with the conclusion that… yeah. She might be drooling a little.

“Are you quite done?” Zelena deadpans.

Emma purses her lips. “You know, if the only reason you offered me a glass of wine is so you can mock me in the meantime, I think I’ll pass.”

“Mock,” Zelena echoes with an eyeroll, flaunting her own glass. “Please. As if I cared enough to know what you two idiots do in your free time. Do you want to know what _I_ think?”

“Not really, no.”

“As… nauseating as it all is,” Zelena continues amidst a dramatic sigh, completely ignoring Emma altogether. “I do find the idea of you two banging quite refreshing.”

Emma, who decided this conversation called for another sip of wine, snorts it right back out.

At this rate her dress shirt will no longer be a white dress shirt.

“Excuse me?” Emma squeaks.

“You and Regina banging -”

“Zelena,” Emma interrupts, aghast. “Do you even know what that _means_?”

“Of course,” Zelena waves a hand, gulping down more wine than necessary. “Courting. Companionship. Whatever it is the modern twits in this world call it.”

“Right.”

“It's a bit of a relief, really. I mean, Regina and I may have our differences, but I _do_ care whether she picks up some spineless buffoon off the streets, believe it or not. Honestly her taste in men is just _ghastly_. I’m vomiting in my mouth simply thinking about it.”

Emma stares on quietly, surprisingly straight-faced.

“What I'm trying to say,” Zelena goes on, decidedly much less sober now, Emma concludes. “You are not the half-witted twat I thought you were, Emma Swan.”

Emma’s smile is strained. “Thanks?”

“And to that I call a toast!” Zelena exclaims, raising her glass. “Despite trying to kill me several times over, I approve of you banging my sister.”

She clinks it over Emma’s empty glass.

“Cheers!”

.

.

Emma doesn't know if it's Zelena’s inebriation or Snow’s that has her questioning her sanity. She figures it's the latter when Snow comes stumbling from the kitchen seconds later, all rose-cheeked and enthusiastic and clearly fucking drunk.

“Who wants to play pin the tail on the turkey?!”

.

.

It isn't so bad, Emma tells herself.

It _isn't_.

For one, it was Regina who did most of the cooking this year, so there isn't a single thing on the table that doesn't look appetizing. For another, she gets to sit _next_ to Regina when it's time to gather around.

It's not so bad.

“So who would like to give thanks first?” David prompts. “Emma?”

Emma stiffens at the request, instantly shifting into panic mode. She's also vaguely aware of Regina’s hand rising up her leg to squeeze her thigh in reassurance.

At least until Zelena adds in, “ _Well. I_ personally find this whole celebration rather odd, wouldn't you say? Granted it’s only recently that I became a hero -”

“Oh?” Regina props her chin on the heel of her hand. “Did I miss the part where you become a hero?”

Zelena glares. “ _Regardless_ , shouldn't _good_ people be doing this thankful thing say… everyday?”

“While you do have a point, Zelena, it's tradition,” Snow says proudly. “And tradition brings families together.”

“Oh please. Can you _be_ any more naive?”

The smile on Snow’s face wilts a little. “I beg your pardon?”

“I've done my research, you know. Through one of Henry’s ancient scripts.”

“My… history book?” Henry says slowly.

“Whatever,” Zelena scoffs. “The _point_ being - your ‘traditions’ are what limit change in this bloody world. They're an obstacle to any sort of progression. No wonder it's filled with hatred and an absolute biggot for a leader. Have you _seen_ the orange man in the telly? He's the most repulsive thing I've ever seen! And the Americans _elected_ him. Matrimony is between a man and a woman? Confederate _pride_? What does that say about your bloody traditions?”

Regina drags a hand down her cheek, dismayed. “Zelena.”

“I disagree,” Snow replies over a gritty smile. “Some traditions are good. Like this one.”

“Oh _yes_. Perhaps next year I should celebrate the old-fashioned way,” Zelena says far too cheerfully. “Invite all my neighbors into my home, have an enormous feast, and then kill them and take their land.”

Snow gasps. “That is _not_ what Thanksgiving is about!”

“Actually grandma,” Henry pipes up. “She has a point.”

“Okay, that is enough!” Snow declares and slams her palms flat on the tabletop. “This is a family dinner, gosh darn it, and I will not have _anyone_ ruin it today. Now we are going to sit down, enjoy the food, and behave like a happy, non-dysfunctional family. Is that clear?”

The silence that extends over the table is stifling. Aside from Robyn’s occasional gurgle and the steady tap of Neal’s shoe, Emma is pretty sure she could drop a toothpick and it would hit the floor like a bang across the room.

Emma clears her throat. “I'm thankful for you guys,” she says after a moment. She doesn't glance around the table to gauge their reactions, so she continues hesitantly -

“For my entire life, I've been alone. At least up until Henry found me and brought me here to Storybrooke. To you guys - Mom, Dad, and -” she flicks her gaze to Regina before proceeding. “I went from having nothing to… to getting the family I've always dreamed of having since I was nothing but a lonely foster kid. And it's changed me in more ways than I could ever imagine. Being here - all of us. Together. I just - I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.”

Silence.

And then -

“That was disgustingly sentimental,” Zelena drawls.

“I thought it was beautiful,” Snow exclaims and fixes Emma with a teary smile. “I'm thankful for you too, sweetheart.”

“Me too, Mom,” Henry adds brightly through David’s ‘me three,’ just as Snow announces -

“Now. Time to eat!”

Emma feels the firm press of Regina’s foot against her shin, prompting Emma to look at her. The soft smile Regina sends her way makes Emma’s heart sputter. Regina reaches underneath the table to touch Emma’s hand, a small gesture of comfort, fingers tangling along the tablecloth.

Emma lets out the breath she's been holding and smiles.

Everything is okay.

.

.

At least it is for the first ten minutes.

“The food is delicious, Regina,” David comments over a forkful of meat, his brow scrunching in confusion. “I can't figure out what this is. It kind of tastes like fish.”

“That would be Zelena’s doing,” Regina says.

“Oh?”

Zelena daintily dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin before placing it on the table. She smiles pleasantly.

“It's swan.”

Emma nearly chokes on a piece of turkey as it makes its way down her throat. Beside her, Regina stops chewing.

“What is it, Regina?” Zelena says in a manner that is anything but innocent. “I thought you of all people would enjoy a bit of _swan_ in your mouth.”

This time it's water making its way down Emma’s throat before she manages to spew it back out.

“Emma!” Snow chides.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, coughing. She stands up. “I'm gonna go clean up.”

“I'll come help you,” Regina hastily says. And Emma knows it's just an excuse to get away from the impending awkwardness at the table, but she doesn't think she can handle being alone with Regina right now.

“ _No._ No. You - you stay here.”

Emma doesn't wait for a reply. She's out the door and forever cursing the asshole who invented Thanksgiving dinner.

.

.

There's a tiny half bathroom on the main floor that Emma rarely uses, preferring the one in Regina’s study on the nights Emma comes to visit. Once in there, she takes a few moments to let her heart rate settle and her mind clear.

It's still relatively early, far too soon to be leaving without making up a decent excuse. Though Emma does have half a mind to poof out of existence, excuse or not. The other half wonders if she should finally put the liquid courage currently residing in her coat pocket to good use. See what happens.

She settles for grabbing a few sheets of toilet paper instead and swabbing at the wine stains on her shirt.

It’s officially ruined, that’s for fucking sure.

Emma is so preoccupied with getting the stains out that she doesn’t hear the light knock on the door, or see Regina slipping in until their eyes meet through the mirror.

Emma pauses, toilet paper pressed against her boobs. She imagines she looks like a melted pile of shit right now.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I thought you could use some help,” Regina says.

“Depends. Know any magic that can fix this mess?”

Emma doesn’t question it further when Regina approaches slowly. She pushes aside the lump of tissue, and with a flick of her hand, all but magicks the stains away.

“No way,” Emma grins, surprised. “You’ve _got_ to teach me how to do that.”

“Maybe some day.”

The gentle tone isn’t lost on Emma. Neither is the close proximity as she realizes Regina’s palm is still pressed against Emma’s chest, resting directly over her sternum. It knocks Emma off kilter for a moment - so much so that her voice trembles when she speaks.

“Regina?”

When Regina peers up at her through her lashes, Emma is once again awestruck by how fucking beautiful Regina is.

This… this is bad.

“I’m sorry if what Zelena said made you uncomfortable,” Regina says finally. “Actually I’m sorry for her behavior in general. I’m convinced she’s clinically insane.”

“Yeah. No kidding,” Emma tries to laugh, but it comes out breathless and a little hoarse. A side effect to Regina’s closeness. “You’re not the only one with a bathshit crazy family, if it’s any consolation. My mom’s no closer to acting normal than she was yesterday when I told her about -”

Emma trails off.

Regina arches her brow knowingly. “Us?”

_Is there an us?_

“Yeah.”

“That certainly explains why she keeps staring at me like I set her knitting patterns on fire.”

Emma exhales a nervous laugh. “Probably.”

Regina’s palm remains pressed against Emma’s sternum, slightly to the left. Emma is acutely aware of its significance.

“Your heart is racing,” Regina observes quietly, which only serves to spur Emma’s already thundering pulse.

“Because I -”

Something flashes in Regina’s eyes, too brief to decipher.

Emma quickly swallows the words, tries to regain some semblance of control over the emotions catapulting inside of her.

“That’s because you’re amazing.”

She feels the intensity of Regina’s stare on her, reading her - as if Regina can see right through the deepest depths of Emma’s soul and Emma is the idiot who can’t hide it.

“Regina…?” Emma says carefully, just as Regina veers back, hand falling limp between them.

She turns towards the door.

And Emma wants to bury herself in a fucking ditch and never come out. She ruined it. She had to open her big, _stupid_ mouth and now she _ruined_ it -

But Regina doesn’t leave like Emma expects her to. She reaches for the door and closes it instead. Locks it.

Wait.

“Okay,” Emma says very carefully. “Is this the part where you kill me? Is that what this is about? Because I haven’t tried the apple pie yet and that’s -”

Regina’s eyeroll is both exasperated and partial. “Emma.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Regina grasps Emma’s chin, halting whatever bullshit was about to come out of Emma’s mouth. She angles in to close the gap and stops just short of bringing their lips together. Where the gentle breeze of Regina’s breath causes Emma’s throat to tighten.

Just a little closer.

“You, too,” Regina says, her voice a low monotone.

Emma is too dazed to understand. “What?”

“You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

Regina tugs her by her tie then, closing the distance and capturing Emma’s mouth. And Emma is too far gone to wonder what that was supposed to mean.

It's embarrassing how quickly Emma moans.

She only has time to suck in a short breath before her lips are parting under the drag of Regina’s tongue. Emma shivers - all she can do is cup the back of Regina’s neck. Sink into the heat of Regina’s body.

 _God._ It’s only been a few hours since they last kissed and already Emma is having serious withdrawals.

Hands clench around the fabric of Emma’s shirt, slipping beneath the hem. Emma releases a shaky exhale against Regina’s mouth once cool fingers meet her skin.

Shit. They’re really about to do this in here.

“Shouldn’t we wait -” Emma trails off as Regina sucks Emma’s bottom lip between her own, releasing it with a light nip.

Emma can’t think.

What the hell was she about to say?

Regina merely hums over the wet trail of lips she has pressed against Emma’s throat. Emma’s head falls back with a thud, even as she finds herself being shoved - _pinned -_ further into the wall.

Well then.

“Wait?” Regina prompts, only to claim Emma’s lips in another heated kiss.

At the press of Regina’s hands around Emma’s breasts, Emma groans. She licks into the hot space of Regina’s mouth, swipes her tongue along the roof.

“Until everyone leaves,” Emma manages to finish, breathless, but she can’t seem to forego Regina’s mouth no matter how hard she tries.

“Is that what you want?”

Is it?

Emma is keenly aware of the heat flooding her body, of Regina’s flushed face and kiss-swollen lips. She’s aware of the throbbing ache between her thighs that makes her think she might actually _die_ if they stop now.

“No,” Emma decides, before sinking her fingers into Regina’s hair.

The next kiss is slower. Deeper. Maybe even dirtier. Emma is having a hard time focusing on anything while Regina still has her palms on Emma’s breasts, separated only by her bra. But then those fingers are sliding underneath the wire and Regina is thumbing Emma’s nipples.

Emma arches, breath snagging, and moans hotly into Regina’s mouth.

It’s _loud_. The type of moan that would get them caught if anyone outside this dinky bathroom hears, and the thought of that sends another hot wave of arousal straight to Emma’s groin.

Fuck, she’s so _wet_ she could -

“Ah, ah,” Regina tsks softly in disapproval, and pulls Emma’s hands away from where they’ve planted themselves on Regina’s ass. She leans in and brushes her lips fleetingly over Emma’s.

“No touching.”

Oh no.

“But-” Emma might be dizzy with want, but even she understands how catastrophic that would be. “ _Why_?”

Emma doesn’t realize her hands had drifted back to Regina’s hips until Regina laughs into their next kiss, a husky sound that spirals through Emma’s body.

Regina clamps Emma’s hands back, a warning to keep them in place.

“Because, Emma.” Again, mouth opening to Emma’s, licking into her for the briefest second. Emma’s knees tremble. “It’s my turn to fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” Emma says on a rough exhalation.

Regina dirty talking might actually be Emma’s undoing.

“Say that again.”

Regina regards her, eyes darting to meet Emma’s and back down to Emma’s heaving chest. And it’s driving Emma _insane_ every second Regina isn't kissing her.

“Is this what you want, Emma?” Regina murmurs into Emma’s ear. Emma doesn't notice the hand reaching between them until it skirts below the hem of Emma’s dress pants, sliding beneath the edge of her underwear.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

At the first nudge of fingers against Emma’s folds, Emma gasps, hips arching.

“ _Yes_.”

Pinned against the wall, Emma is completely at Regina’s mercy. Not that she _minds_.

At all.

Regina finally relents and, leaning in, takes one nipple into her mouth while the heel of her palm presses into Emma’s swollen clit. That draws another desperate noise from Emma. She’s panting now, rolling her hips into Regina’s hand while Regina seems to be taking her sweet time torturing her.

She laps at the hardened tip of Emma’s nipple, never once breaking eye contact. Which is like, the hottest thing when Emma can’t seem to look away.

“Regina,” Emma chokes out as Regina releases her nipple with a wet pop and moves on to the other one, all the while keeping her palm pressed against Emma’s clit.

“Regina, _please_.”

Emma doesn’t know when Regina propped herself back up to kiss her. All she knows is Regina’s mouth is hot against her own. The wet, heavy slide of her tongue is doing things to Emma she never imagined herself feeling.

By now Emma’s breath is coming in short, hard puffs. The slow grind of her hips comes to a halt as Regina guides her fingers to Emma’s entrance, their eyes connecting for one electrifying moment.

It’s Emma who sinks down onto them.

Two fingers slip in deep in one swift movement. It causes the tension to coil at the base of Emma’s spine, traps the air in her lungs, and _fuck_ \- with Regina’s mouth sucking at her pulse point, her perfume engulfing Emma’s senses, it’s all too much. It’s -

Emma almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door. Or the muffled sound of Snow’s voice on the other side.

“Emma?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Emma whispers in a frenzy, her hips bowing off the wall. “Fuck. Regina, don’t stop. Don’t -”

Regina crushes her mouth onto Emma’s in a bruising kiss.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Emma goes back to riding Regina’s fingers as Regina adds a third, curling them in such a way that has Emma’s head tipping back. She grinds her hips with renewed purpose. Follows the motion of Regina pumping hard and fast.

Almost there -

“Emma? Are you in there?” comes Snow’s voice again. The door knob rattles. “At least answer me.”

“I’m coming!” Emma cries out.

Literally.

Emma’s hips start to judder as Regina works over her clit, thumbing it with more precision and pressure.

“Fuck, _Regina_ ,” Emma gasps and shudders through a few more forceful thrusts until - “Oh god. I’m- I’m -”

Regina gently claps a hand over Emma’s mouth to muffle the wanton noise that erupts in Emma’s throat. And then she’s pulsing, clenching around Regina’s fingers. Emma’s back bridges off the wall, nearly sending them both tumbling back.

Regina coaxes her through it. She mouths gentle kisses along Emma’s neck, forehead, while Emma clings onto her shoulders. Emma slumps against her, nuzzles her face into the crook of Regina’s neck as Regina pulls out. She uses her other hand to brush Emma’s sweat-damp hair to the side.

The gesture is so tender that Emma’s heart feels _full_. She can almost forget post-orgasm that her mother is standing outside the door.

Another knock.

“ _Emma_. Open this door right now!”

With a shaky sigh, Emma adjusts her shirt and straightens up. Which is a damn shame when all she wants to do is press Regina into the wall and return the favor.

Regina spares her a sly look. “Think you could at least look somewhat presentable?”

“Like you didn't just have your fingers inside me a minute ago?”

The answering chuckle Emma receives is borderline filthy. Not to mention it goes straight to Emma’s groin. Looking as pristine as ever, Regina smooths out her lipstick before opening the door.

Snow stands frozen on the other side.

“Regina!” Snow squeaks. Her horrified gaze swerves between her and Emma. “I - what are you -”

Regina casually struts past her.

“Close your mouth, Snow. You look like a trout.”

Snow openly gapes at her long after she leaves. And then she’s turning to Emma with the most _offended_ expression.

“ _Emma,_ ” Snow says, absolutely scandalized.

Emma’s eyes flicker shut. Here it comes.

“What on earth were you thinking? On _Thanksgiving_? And in front of baby Jesus no less! Honestly!”

Confused, Emma follows Snow’s line of gaze to the baby Jesus statue sitting mysteriously on the toilet tank behind her. She has to do a double take.

What the fuck.

 _Again?_ Where did that even _come_ from?

“Dessert is being served,” Snow says and briskly takes the statue off the tank. “You might want to clean up beforehand.”

A pause.

She supplies Emma with a glare. “And I’m taking _this_.” In a leveled whisper - “Shame on you.”

Statue in hand, Snow stomps out in a huff. Emma is left standing alone, dazed in post-orgasmic bliss, and she knows exactly one thing.

This?

So worth it. Every last bit of it.

Snow’s batshit hysteria and all.

.

.

Emma doesn’t want to leave.

She realizes this when Snow and David depart with Neal, and Zelena is stuck nursing a crying Robyn long enough to figure out she could be doing this in the comfort of her own home. If the totally unsubtle glower Regina sends Zelena is any indication, Regina knows this too.

“Ugh, fine. Bloody help you are,” Zelena scoffs and heads for the door. She beams down at the pink bundle in her arms. “Come, poppet. Mummy’s going to smother you in your cot and shut you right up.”

“Zelena,” Regina sighs. “You can’t simply say that sort of thing in this world.”

“What do you mean? I’m only giving her a bottle.”

“Yes. Tell that to social services,” Regina deadpans and gestures to Henry, who is standing by the stairwell looking particularly devious. “Honey, are you staying here or are you going home with Emma?”

“I was thinking of staying at Aunt Zelena’s tonight, actually,” Henry says with a small shrug.

“ _What_?” both Regina and Zelena echo. Although Zelena looks awfully gleeful.

Emma will say it again.

That conniving little shit.

“Yeah, I mean. You promised we’d watch A Christmas Story together, remember?” Henry tells Zelena, who can’t hold a facade if it bit her in the ass.

“I did?” Zelena asks. As Henry casts his eyes skyward, Zelena quickly amends, “Oh, I _did_. Yes. How silly of me. I’ll put it on the VCR when we get back.”

“Or… I can torrent it,” Henry suggests dubiously, before offering Regina a hug. “I’ll see you later, Mom.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

At the mumbled ‘G’night, Mom’ when Henry goes to hug Emma, she wants to wipe the grin clean off his treacherous face.

Emma mutters into his ear. “You’re in deep shit.”

“You’ll thank me later,” he whispers back.

With that said, Zelena’s _‘ta ta, dears!_ ’ goes practically unnoticed on Emma’s part as they disappear in a cloud of green smoke. Because once again she’s alone in Regina’s presence, and Emma has no fucking idea what to do.

“Guess it’s time for me to head back, too,” Emma says hesitantly, steeling herself for the inevitable goodbye.

“Or.” Regina takes a step closer. Emma’s stomach flutters in anticipation. “You could stay. How’d you like a glass of the best apple cider you ever tasted?”

And Emma… Emma smiles dopily.

“Got anything stronger?”

.

.

It starts like this.

Regina goes upstairs to shower and change, while Emma stays behind in the kitchen to make herself useful. It's a difficult decision. Between the enormous pile of dishes in the sink and massive quantities of leftovers that need to be put away, Emma wishes she had the third option of magicking it all from existence.

She starts with the leftovers.

It's beginning to get dark outside, the faintest strip of sunlight barely visible through the window. The only sounds are the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creek from upstairs as Emma moves through the kitchen. It's the quiet that eventually drives Emma insane. She turns on a Pandora playlist and hums quiety to the music in the meantime.

Within twenty minutes she has all the leftovers stashed away in the fridge and half of the dishes loaded.

“I don't ever want to let you down,” Emma sings softly, hoarse from all the wine-spitting she did earlier today. “I don't ever want to leave this town. ‘Cause after all, this city never sleeps -”

She pivots around only to spot Regina leaning against the island counter, regarding her closely. Emma is so startled she drops the plate she’s holding. She watches as it stops mid-fall and hovers in the air, landing back in Emma's hand.

“You know,” Emma says and dumps the soapy dish back into the sink. “It's rude to sneak up on people like that.”

“Maybe if you weren't too busy breaking out into song, you would've heard me.”

“I wasn't -” Emma trails off, narrows her eyes. “I thought you went upstairs to change?”

“I did.”

 _That's_ an overstatement. What Regina is wearing can barely constitute as putting on clothes, when there's hardly anything _there._

And shit, Emma is not in the right mindset to handle seeing Regina barefoot, standing in a blue botton-down shirt, hem brushing over her bare thighs, and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It's so _casual_ and homey.

And honestly the sexiest thing Emma has seen to date. Her mouth dries on the spot.

Regina smiles knowingly.

“What're you listening to?” Regina asks and pushes off the counter in a leisurely approach.

“Just the radio,” Emma replies and does her best to keep her eyes on Regina's face.

But god _her legs._

“You're lucky you didn't catch me dancing instead. Fourteen year old me couldn't move for shit at our Homecoming dance.”

Regina hums in response. “It was your parents who taught me, believe it or not.”

“ _No way_.”

“Back in Camelot,” Regina nods with a small laugh. “I never had anyone properly teach me. So your father took it upon himself to offer his feet to step on.”

Emma grins. “Oh come on. It couldn't be that bad.”

“No, it was worst. Your parents are _insufferable_.”

The smile on Emma’s face fades to a slow, pensive frown as she takes Regina in, letting her gaze sweep over the little space between them with a calculated pause.

Emma has no idea what she's doing when she offers her hand. “Here. Let me show you instead.”

Regina stares at the offered hand in mild disbelief. “You can't be serious. _You_ know how to dance?”

“It's one foot in, one foot out. Can't be too hard, right?”

At Regina's unimpressed eyebrow arch, Emma rolls her eyes and does a little bow for emphasis.“First, escort your partner to the dance floor.”

Regina’s mouth tips up, if only briefly, but a moment later she's taking Emma’s hand in hers. Emma considers that a victory at least.

“What’s next, Savior?” Regina asks, and the _way_ she says it, says _Savior_ , distracts Emma enough to cloud her thoughts for a second.

“Next, we um… position our arms. Like so.”

Emma leads Regina’s hands to her shoulders, allowing her own to settle on Regina’s waist. The new position closes the scarce distance remaining between them and Emma is now very much aware of how warm Regina is beneath her palms. How close Regina is for Emma to lean in and finish where they’d left off in the bathroom.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

“And now,” Emma’s tongue feels thick in her now dry throat. Her voice trembles a little. “We… sway.”

“How juvenile,” Regina says wryly.

“It worked for me in middle school.”

Regina doesn't provide a sarcastic remark to that, and it takes Emma a moment to figure out why.

The song has changed. Where there was a casual, slow tempo playing in the background, now there’s Ed Sheeran. And Emma keeps somewhat up to date on modern music to know there’s _nothing_ platonic about Ed Sheeran.

Somehow slow dancing with Regina to the lyrics ‘ _I never knew you were the someone waiting for me, ‘cause we were just kids when we fell in love’_ was definitely _not_ what Emma had in mind.

“This is nice,” Regina says softly.

Her fingers are tangled loosely in Emma’s hair and they're swaying now, close enough to be sharing the same air. To feel the heat radiating from their bodies. It’s all so intimate - so _romantic_ \- that Emma’s throat tightens with every breath she takes.

Regina relaxes into her, tilts her head slightly until their foreheads touch. “What song is this?”

“Ed Sheeran.” Emma tightens her grip on Regina’s waist. “Perfect.”

“Hmm.”

The small distance between them seems charged. Emma knows this because, even though she’s fully aware of every cell in her body lighting up at Regina’s proximity, Regina also seems to be stepping closer. Sealing the space between them until their bodies are essentially aligned. Until even the freshly showered smell of Regina makes Emma dizzy with want.

Emma lets her hands slide over Regina’s hips and back up. She hears the little hitch in Regina’s breath when she does, feels it in the way Regina sinks her hand into Emma’s hair.

“Emma,” Regina exhales.

When Regina pulls back, her eyes are dark and half-lidded. Emma can’t tear her gaze away from the curve of Regina’s bottom lip.

Can’t control the way Emma surges forward and slants their mouths together.

The satisfied sigh that Regina releases into the kiss has Emma’s heart thudding _wildly_.

Emma’s hands shift as she focuses on the kiss, on the feel of Regina’s mouth gliding against her own. Lips part underneath Emma’s and capture Emma’s bottom lip, sucking on it for a second or two.

Emma groans.

The kiss turns heated quickly. It becomes a mess of heavy, shortened breaths and god, it’s too much.

Emma is so caught up in the tiny moan Regina pants into her mouth that she doesn’t notice the migration they’ve made to other side of the kitchen until Regina’s ass hits the counter.

Regina draws away, her hooded eyes fixed on Emma’s mouth.

Emma almost doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice when she asks -

“What do you want?”

She flits her gaze to Regina’s, and the naked _desire_ Emma sees there pulses through her in a hot wave of arousal.

Regina is quick to answer.

“You,” she says. Emma’s stomach flips. “Just you.”

“Spread your legs for me.”

Emma doesn’t wait for Regina to comply. Her hands are already roving underneath the hem of Regina’s shirt, yanking at the red satin panties she finds there until they’re twisted at Regina’s ankles.

Emma drops to her knees.

She glances up to find Regina staring, chest rising and falling in shallow heaves.

Her hands wrap around Regina’s thighs to push them apart, far enough for Emma to dip in between them. Emma’s breath catches.

Regina is so _wet_.

Surprisingly so, which makes this encounter all the more satisfying as Regina’s groans in frustration.

“ _Emma_.”

Emma leans in without another word, mouth descending on Regina.

And it’s that first taste that does it for both of them.

Above her Regina gasps, hips jutting out into the drag of Emma’s tongue. She pries her death grip from the edge of the counter and forms another one in Emma’s hair, giving a small tug of encouragement.

Emma takes it with enthusiasm as she licks up the length of Regina’s slit, circles around the swell of her clit. Regina’s body trembles, thighs pressing harder against Emma’s head as Emma pushes in with the tip of her tongue.

Regina lets out a long, drawn-out moan.

She slides down the counter to spread her thighs wider, taking Emma in deeper, and rocks her hips into the lazy thrust of Emma’s tongue. Their eyes hold the entire way, and it’s that connection, that dark yearning in Regina’s eyes that pushes Emma past the brink of her desire.

Eventually Emma’s jaw begins to twinge and she replaces her tongue with two fingers. The feel of her, the tight, wet feel of _Regina_ clinging around her fingers takes Emma’s breath away.

Regina sinks into them with a gravelly moan, spine arching off the counter. “Emma. God, I -”

She fucks Regina slow and deep at first, the rest of Regina’s words trailing off into another desperate utterance of Emma’s name.

Did Emma mention she loves hearing Regina say her name?

Emma presses her mouth to Regina’s mound, laps at the wetness that streaks through her folds before returning her attention back to Regina’s clit. As soon as Emma takes it gently between her lips, Regina jerks into her. Her hips pick up pace, grinding into the steady pump of Emma’s fingers.

She feels Regina begin to quake.

Emma doesn’t relent. She rolls her tongue around Regina’s clit, flicks at the tip, sucks it into her mouth. By now Regina is rocking her hips in frantic abandon against Emma’s face. Her hand is fisted almost painfully in Emma’s hair.

Regina’s orgasm approaches soon after that.

Emma looks on in awe as muscles clamp down tightly and Regina’s eyes slam shut.

Everything about Regina in the throes of orgasm is beyond beautiful. The way her head tilts back. The flush that covers her neck. The pinched look of overwhelming pleasure sweeping over her face as she comes with a hoarse shout.

Emma is faced with this crushing _ache_ to make her come all over again.

Regina is breathless by the time she slumps off the counter and into Emma’s arms. She drapes her arms over Emma’s shoulders, her eyes glassy and filled with -

Emma can't pinpoint what emotion is in them, but it makes the space beneath her ribs tighten.

It's Regina who leans in to bring their mouths together again. The kiss this time is languid and tender, stretching on for minutes as Regina tastes herself in it. Even when they part Regina is still peppering kisses along Emma’s lip, as if reluctant to pull away completely. Emma can't contain her smile even if she wanted to.

The feeling that swells up inside her- those words that have been bubbling up in her chest all day - Emma has to tamper down on the urge to _say_ them.

“Let’s finish this up in my bed,” Regina whispers. She traces her lips to Emma’s ear. “I want to leave marks all over your body.”

A shiver spikes up Emma’s spine.

“Okay,” Emma rasps. She clears her throat. “Give me a minute. I have to get something out of my car.”

The scrape of Regina's teeth against Emma’s earlobe spurs another shiver.

“I'll be waiting.”

.

.

Emma guesses there's only so much good that can happen before your luck eventually runs out.

She thinks this as she tries to pry open her car door, realizing she had locked it before dinner. Her keys are shoved somewhere in her coat pocket, which conveniently hangs in the coat closet.

The roses will have to wait.

It's thirty degrees out and she's freezing her ass off as she makes her way back up the porch, entering the foyer.

“Hey Regina, do you think you can grab my -” Emma freezes mid-word.

Regina is already by the closet, her hand outstretched towards Emma’s coat while the other is holding the liquid courage potion, a look of pensiveness on her face.

Regina glances at her. “You forgot these,” she says and tosses Emma her keys.

Emma catches them. The turmoil doesn't quite drop from Regina's expression, and the long stretch of silence that ensues is making Emma faintly queasy.

“Regina…?”

That seems to snap Regina out of it. She shifts her gaze from the potion back to Emma.

“How long have you had this?”

It's not… accusing exactly, the way Regina says it. But it's definitely not encouraging either.

Emma fidgets under Regina’s intense stare. “About two weeks. I bought it from Snow.”

“So since that first time you kissed me… in the vault.”

“I thought I could - I don't know. Use it again to -”

“To what, Emma?” Regina interjects, and there's that steely edge in her tone that drops in Emma’s stomach like a cement block. “Fuck me over your desk? Like you needed the extra bit of courage to kiss me the first time?”

“No - _no_. Of course not. Regina, I would never use it for that,” Emma promises. “I never used it at all. I was… _scared_ , alright? I was fucking terrified of what you made me feel. And I thought - I thought this would make it easier.”

Regina's face softens ever so slightly, and she's looking at Emma now like she wants to _know_.

“What I made you feel?”

Emma stands frozen on the spot. She feels the intensity of Regina’s stare like the force of a jackhammer. It sucks the air out of Emma’s lungs.

With the stilted silence comes the inevitable resignation in Regina’s gaze.

“Emma.” She seems to steel herself for whatever it is she's about to say. “I think… whatever this is needs to stop. Before anyone gets hurt.”

Emma’s first instinct is to laugh, purely because this is starting to sound like that time she’d nearly skipped town and was greeted by an apple turnover instead.

But Regina is serious, and something inside Emma just _breaks._

“Is that what you want?”

Regina's jaw ticks. It looks like she's trying to convince herself as much as Emma.

“Yes.”

“And nothing changes? This won't affect Henry?”

“Never.”

Emma’s weak smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. It's like there's a shard of glass lodged up in her throat when she does manage to speak.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Regina breathes in response. There's that look in her eyes again. Soft, but intense. Emma’s heart skips a beat. “I’ll walk you out.”

Emma doesn't know what to think of the offer. She numbly grabs her coat and follows Regina to the door, stepping out into the porch, where Regina’s hand briefly lingers on her arm for what seems like the final time.

“I'll message you tomorrow. Henry may want to come pick up his things,” Regina says, as if things are back to normal.

As if things were _ever_ normal.

Emma glues on a smile. “Okay.”

Regina stares at her, eyes flirting across Emma’s face. Conflicted. A beat passes.

“Okay,” Regina echoes once again, taking a deliberate step back. And then -

“Good night, Emma.”

It's the last thing Emma hears before the door swings shut, Regina disappearing behind it. Emma watches the door, half expecting it to fling back open and then maybe she can wake up from this horrible dream.

.

.

But it doesn't.

It isn't until Emma is standing outside her car that her emotions _finally_ boil over.

She slams a fist into the hood of her Bug.

“Fuck,” she grits out. She kicks at the tire. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Why does it _hurt_ this much? It's not like she's lost Regina’s friendship. Because that's what they are.

Friends.

But Emma isn't stupid enough to wonder why there's a crushing ache residing in her chest. Why she can't stop fucking thinking about Regina’s mouth. Her laugh. Her beautiful fucking smile.

She loves Regina.

There isn't a part of Regina that Emma isn't in love with.

And that? That's just a recipe for disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard the song Perfect by Ed Sheeran, I recommend listening to it. And imagining Emma and Regina slow dancing to this shit. I die every time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. It's me.
> 
> First off, I can't even express how sorry I am for the delay in getting this chapter out. Hmmm 7 months? My only excuse is writer's block and life. I had the hardest time writing this than any other story I've written. I wanted to give this story an ending before I decided to work on anything else, so I pushed through. And I think I'm fairly happy with the result. All 17k words of it.
> 
> Seriously, this chapter's a monstrosity. And I didn't do nearly as much editing as I should have. Please let me know what you think and calm my nerves. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting in the last few months. I'm awful at replying, but please know that I read every single comment and value them all. They make me feel giddy.
> 
> Finally, the end. Viva la Swan Queen.

_He’s coming by later to pick up his things._

The message has sat on Emma’s phone for exactly forty-three minutes. And in those forty-three minutes, she has yet to come up with a good excuse as to why she shouldn't just drop her phone out the window.

Emma sighs from her bed.

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and staring at Regina’s name only seems to serve as a punch to the gut.

The night before had been long and strenuous. After leaving Regina’s, Emma had sat in her Bug well into the night, until even the sight of her steering wheel made her nauseous. She’d walked into her apartment on autopilot after that. And like every other self-pitying party she’s had in her lifetime, this one went through a series of essential to-dos.

The list goes like this.

  1. Drink
  2. Break a few things
  3. Drink some more
  4. Cry



Now, as Emma stares aimlessly at a wall, she’s beginning to realize the drinking part probably wasn’t a good idea. Because not only is she hungover and heartbroken, but she’s about to puke her broken heart out along with it.

It’s a shit feeling. The shittiest Emma’s felt in years.

God, even _that_ ’s an understatement.

“Way to go, Swan,” Emma mumbles, words half muffled by her pillow. “You idiot sandwich.”

“Now I know you must be feeling bad if you’re quoting Gordon Ramsay memes,” Henry says in stunned greeting from the doorway.

Emma hadn’t even heard him come in. She can’t say she’s taken by surprise - Regina _did_ warn her.

And just thinking about Regina kickstarts that awful pain in her chest again. She groans into her pillow.

Fuck.

“Mom?” Henry prompts hesitantly, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a bottle of vodka in one hand. Emma recognizes it from her drinking escapades last night. “Why does it smell like burning roses in here?”

“Because I set them on fire,” Emma says blandly.

“ _Okay_ ,” he says very slowly, and skids to a stop at her bedside. He puts the bottle down on her nightstand and squints at her. “Are you hungover?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

That earns her a quiet scoff and more brooding silence on Emma’s part, which seems to irritate Henry even _more_. Not that Emma cares.

She’s _not_ in the mood to deal with her son’s antics right now.

“Okay. I give,” he replies, taking a seat on Emma’s edge of the bed. It sags with his weight.

Jesus Christ.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Emma grumbles and flops to the other side, _away_ from Henry’s prying gaze. “Don’t you have things to pack up? And, I don’t know. Places to be?”

“Not when my mom’s sulking in bed at three in the afternoon.”

Emma narrows her eyes at her alarm clock. Is it really that late?

“I appreciate the concern, Hen,” Emma says genuinely. She scrubs a hand down her face. “But I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound at all convinced. “Is that why Mom made breakfast this morning looking like she spent the whole night crying?”

 _That_ catches Emma’s attention. She flops back over to face him, eyes scanning his expression for any indication of a lie or… something. But her lie detector remains idle, and the resulting pang in her chest urges her to probe further.

“What?” she asks quietly.

“She’s just as bad at hiding her emotions as you are.” Henry shrugs, as if that answers the fucking question. Tapping his finger over his chin thoughtfully, he adds, “Actually she’s way worst. For someone who used to be evil, Mom’s soft as _hell_ -”

“Woah. Back up there, kid. What do you mean she’s been _crying_?”

“I don’t know!” he exclaims and prods her with his finger. Emma swats it away. “You tell me. Something obviously happened last night.”

Emma clenches her jaw in response. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why are you here moping?”

“I’m not -” Emma begins to say, frustrated now. “Because I - it’s just complicated, okay? Regina doesn’t - she doesn’t _feel_ the same way. We’re friends. That’s the bottom line. And I’m not going to ruin our friendship just because I’m - I think I’m -”

Emma exhales roughly through her nose. Is she really going to say it out loud?

“Oh,” Henry breathes in realization.

Emma stiffens. “What?”

“Oh shit.”

“ _What_?”

“You’re in love with her.”

It’s a statement, one that hangs heavily in the air between them.

“You love my mom,” Henry affirms softly.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath.

“Yeah,” she admits after a long stretch of silence. “Yeah, kid. I do.”

Acknowledging it out loud to another person should be a relief, should have loosened the pressure dwelling in Emma’s chest. Instead the space between her ribs tightens further.

It’s a whole lot scarier when you say it out loud.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Emma wants to laugh, but there's something about the mixture of dread and adrenaline spiraling inside her that thinks this isn't so funny.

“I don't _do_ feelings, Henry. Neither does Regina,” Emma points out, digging the heels of her palms against her eyelids. “And even if she did, it's not like they’re mutual.”

Henry wrinkles his nose. “Jeeze. Seriously? Have you _seen_ the way she looks at you?”

“Like she wants to jump my bones?" 

“Ew. _No_.” Henry recoils. At least the disgust on his face is priceless. “Why would you say that? Now I'm never going to get that out of my head.” 

“Good. How does she look at me then?”

“The same way she looks at me.” At that, Henry gives a small shrug. “Like you're her world.”

A weighted pause. And then -

“Like you're… everything.”

If Emma was having trouble breathing a second ago, it doesn't compare to the way the air rushes right out of her lungs. Her stomach is in knots - it has been all day. But it twists and coils at Henry’s words. Makes her breathless with the possibility of _what if_.

“You're reading too much into this, Henry.”

“And what if I'm not?” he counters, unthwarted. “What if she feels the same?”

“What if she _doesn't_?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “And you think _I'm_ reading too much into it. I mean, isn't that what happy endings are all about? Taking chances?”

Emma’s only response is a weak groan. She's going to be haunted by fairytales for the rest of her miserable life.

“What do you want me to say? That I'm scared?” Emma asks and shoves her face into her pillow 

She's never fucking drinking again.

“Because I am. Whether your mom does or doesn't -” she trails off. “There's no win for me here. I'm fucking terrified.”

There’s a short lull in the conversation where Henry remains silent and Emma is too busy sinking her whole head into the comfort of her mattress to wonder why.

A cereal bar smacks her square on the back of her head.

“ _Ow_! What the hell?”

Henry stands up. “If you’re going to sulk the rest of the day, there’s your nutrition. So you can get up now.”

“What I need is an advil. And a side of _I’m about to kick your little behind_ ,” Emma grumbles and rubs her head. “What for?”

“Christmas tree shopping.”

“It’s _November_.”

“And this is America,” Henry replies without missing a beat. “Nothing makes sense.”

He yanks at the covers then, wrenching them back until her ass slides halfway off the bed.

The other half collides with the floor.

“ _Henry_.”

He promptly scrambles out of the room. “Just looking out for you, Mom!”

Emma’s head hits the floor with a resounding thud. She takes it back.

She's going to need a shot to get through the rest of the day.

.

.

Later that afternoon, she types Regina a message. It looks like this.

**_I miss you._ **

And then she hastily deletes it because Emma is not going to be the sentimental dumbass in this case, even if she technically _is_. Instead she sends the following.

**_How are you?_ **

**_Henry said you were having a rough morning._ **

Emma doesn't have to wait too long. Between Henry insisting on buying a large tree and Emma impatiently waiting by her phone for exactly eleven and a half minutes, she gets a text back.

_I'm fine, Miss Swan._

Emma blinks. That's it.

That's all it says.

Dread sinks into Emma’s stomach, raw and uncontained.

“Mom, what about this one?”

Emma peers up from her phone. It’s Henry, pointing at the largest Christmas tree in the entire lot. It’s bulky and massive and extends well past eight feet. Taller than her fucking apartment.

It’s absolutely _grotesque_.

“It’s perfect,” Emma says numbly and slips her phone away. Tries to find some solitude in the way Henry beams and scampers off for assistance.

Standing alone now in the otherwise deserted lot, Emma sighs into the frosty air.

Perfect.

.

.

You know that feeling you get, when time passes by and you’re forever stuck on an endless crossroad? Wondering which direction to go. Like you’re there. Existing, but not quite _living_.

Yeah. Emma hates that feeling.

A week passes, and in that week Emma has come to the conclusion that she hates the feeling almost as much as she hates what’s causing it. There’s a hollow carved out in her chest. And if this is what it’s like to fall head over heels, then Emma doesn’t _want_ it.

She doesn’t want to miss Regina as hard as she does. Doesn’t want to feel like she’s homesick, knowing that she’ll never be able to go back home.

That isn't even the worst of it.

What’s worst are the lonely nights spent wondering what if things were different. Wondering how the hell she's going to spend an entire lifetime getting over Regina when all she sees when she closes her eyes _is_ Regina.

Even in her dreams, Emma can’t escape. She’s either left wanting, writhing through a lust-filled haze, or succumbing to the constant nightmares. Wondering _what if_.

What Emma _needs_ is to get a fucking grip.

“Mom, come on. Stop sulking,” Henry says. “You might as well tape that to your forehead.”

He gestures to the little grinch ornament in her hands.

It’s the beginning of December and they’re only now decorating their tree. It had taken a bit of magic and shapeshifting to get the thing into the living room, nonetheless through the door. But if it means getting to do it over a mug of hot cocoa and some seriously ugly ornaments, then Emma can’t complain.

Much.

“I’m not sulking,” Emma grumbles before hanging her Grinch, ignoring Henry’s incredulous eyeroll.

“Yeah. You are.”

“No. I’m _not_.”

“Then why do you keep staring at Mom’s picture like you’re about to sing a Whitney Houston song?”

“I’m not -” Emma’s nostrils flare.

She has her phone out again, despondently gazing at her lock screen, where she just so happens to have a photo of him and Regina set as the background. It’s not like she’s lovesick _trash_ or anything.

“You’re in it, too,” Emma defends and clicks her phone off. It’ll probably cause her less grief to flush it down the toilet at this point.

“You cropped half my face out.”

“It’s not my fault you have a big head, kid.”

At that, Henry snorts and shakes his head, brushing off the comment altogether as he goes to gather the next ornament from the pile.

He pauses. “Oh. Before I forget.” Digging into his pocket, he retrieves what looks to be another ornament and holds it up for Emma to take.

“Mom asked me to give this to you.”

“ _What_?”

It doesn’t fail to make Emma’s stomach swoop. She practically lunges for his hand, suspending the ornament in front of her face so she can get a better look.

It’s a swan.

A pretty crystal swan with delicate gold markings on top of its head. Markings that look suspiciously like a crown.

Emma blinks in realization.

“This is a swan queen,” she says bluntly.

“Yup.” Henry pops out the ‘p’ in a knowing manner. “Nice, right?”

Emma shifts her gaze from the swan in her hand to Henry’s calculating expression, totally and utterly confused. What the fuck?

“You should call her,” he urges shrewdly. “And thank her.”

Oh.

Emma’s face crumples. The hope that was once blossoming in her chest plummets into anger.

“Oh, you are _not_ about to parent trap me, kid,” Emma says and drops the ornament to her side. “Room. Now. You’re so grounded.”

“But Zelena’s picking me up in twenty minutes to go shopping.”

“Do you not get how this grounding thing works?”

Twenty-five minutes later, Emma opens the door to Zelena’s obnoxiously smug face. She has half a mind to toss the rest of the ornaments in the trash after Henry scampers off to grab his things.

Apparently neither of them knows how this grounding thing works.

Zelena takes one look at her from the doorway and immediately recoils.

“My gods. You look like decomposed shite.”

“Thanks,” Emma says in a sarcastic drawl.

“Regina truly did a number on you, didn't she?” Zelena declares, thoughtfully observing her, before releasing a dramatic sigh. “Bloody idiots, the both of you. Here.”

She shoves a baby into Emma's arms.

Emma nearly falls over from the surprise. She struggles to adjust Robyn over her hip as she stutters -

“I - what -”

“Bedtime is at 7. Nappies are in the bag. And she prefers _organic_ milk. None of that putrid slime you have in your fridge. And for Merlin’s sake, do not feed her any carrots this time or the rest of the night will be a bloody nightmare.”

Before Emma can so much as utter another word, Henry comes rushing in. He pecks Emma’s cheek with a quick ‘see ya later, Mom!’ and bolts out the door.

Zelena wiggles her fingers in farewell. “Toodles!”

“Wait, you're not seriously leaving your kid here with -”

The door slams shut. The silence that follows after that is only broken by Robyn’s amused gurgle.

Alright. So it's kind of cute.

“Yeah? Think that's funny?” Emma gripes in resignation and tickles her foot. “Wait until I feed you my putrid slime.”

.

.

Thankfully she has some organic milk in the fridge, courtesy of Henry. And by default, Regina. It takes some adjusting and figuring out how to properly change a diaper (as the only experience she has are the fake memories Regina gave her during her time in New York), but by seven thirty she has Robyn tucked in and passed out.

With nothing planned for the rest of the evening, Emma wanders back into the living room and slumps into an armchair. She fetches her phone from her sweater pocket and stares gloomily at the screen.

No new calls or messages.

She hasn’t heard back from Regina all week.

Granted, Emma hasn’t tried to contact Regina either, not since _I’m fine, Miss Swan._ It didn’t warrant a response then, and it certainly doesn’t now. Although if Emma were truly honest with herself, the reply had stung enough to drop communication altogether.

If Regina wanted to talk to her, then she can take the initiative herself.

And yet Emma’s fingers itch with the need to go through past messages, maybe make an exception just this once and see how Regina is doing. But what can she say?

_Hi Regina. Just checking up on you. And seeing if you miss me as much as I miss you. Please say yes for my own pathetic sake._

Ugh.

She needs a distraction. One that doesn’t involve gazing at the background photo on her lock screen again. It was snapped one lazy morning during the summer, when Henry had snatched her phone off the table at Granny’s and made a silly face, practically cramming his head into Regina’s cheek. Regina had smiled into the camera despite herself, bright-eyed and soft.

And Emma was long gone ever since.

Emma sucks absently on her lip and groans. _Fuck_.

This is _not_ what she had in mind when finding a distraction.

She’s swiping at the unlock key and preparing for a mindless round of Candy Crush when she gets an incoming call.

The resulting contact photo causes Emma’s stomach to plunge. It’s Regina, chin propped up on her palm, staring directly into the lens in indifference. The barest hint of a smile is curled over her mouth. Emma had forgotten she’d had it saved. Looking at it now makes the tiny palpitations in her chest go crazy.

She nearly drops her phone in her haste to answer it.

“ _Regina_ ,” Emma breathes, squeaky and pitiful. She clears her throat. “Hey.”

“Emma.”

That voice, low and raspy in her ear, sounds faintly relieved. It also makes Emma melt further into her chair.

“You’re… _okay_ ,” Regina says a second later, the apprehension clear now that Emma can think.

“I… am?” Emma replies dubiously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Zelena called and said something might’ve happened to you. That you were hurt and so I -”

Regina trails off, and while Emma has to quell the butterflies in her stomach because apparently Regina was _worried_ about her, she tilts her head back against the armchair instead and huffs out a sigh. If it isn’t bad enough that her own son is trying to parent trap her, the Wicked Witch of the West is, too.

“So you believed her,” Emma finishes with a droll, “And you called me.”

“Well I certainly wasn’t just going to show up to your apartment uninvited,” Regina says defensively.

Something about that defensiveness sparks the anger inside Emma. She doesn't need Regina to check up on her. She doesn't _need_ Regina.

“Well I'm fine,” Emma snaps. “I'm sitting here on babysitting duty while I put ugly ornaments on a tree. Happy now?”

The silence on the other line only infuriates Emma even more.

“Look, I have to go.”

Regina’s voice cuts in, uneven and desperate.

“Emma. Wait.”

Emma does; she cradles the phone close to her ear, waits with bated breath while Regina seems to be collecting her thoughts.

“I'm sorry I haven't called,” Regina says finally. Genuinely. Emma loosens the grip on her phone. “I've wanted to. I wanted to see how you were doing so I could -”

Regina pauses. There's a lump lodged so far up Emma’s throat, she doesn't think she could speak even if she wanted to.

“I miss talking to you,” Regina says.

Emma can't help it. She breaks out into a toothy smile.

“Yeah?” she presses.

Emma bites her lip at Regina’s breathy laugh. “Yes.”

“I miss talking to you, too,” Emma admits softly and switches the phone to her other ear.

 _I miss you_.

Emma doesn't say it out loud, though, as badly as the words want to tumble out of her mouth. She fiddles with a loose thread on her pajama pants and carefully considers her next words.

Regina beats her to it. “You said you were babysitting?”

“Yeah. Robyn. Zelena kinda dumped her on me when our son decided he’d rather go shopping than help decorate this stupid tree.”

 _Shopping my ass,_ Emma thinks pettily.

“That explains why I’ve managed to get some peace and quiet all day,” Regina murmurs, and in a more pensive tone, “Then why did Zelena tell me you fell off a tree?”

“No idea,” Emma lies through her teeth. _A fucking tree_? “Maybe she’s batshit crazy?”

“Indeed she is,” Regina agrees amicably.

And it’s _nice_. This, being able to talk to Regina again. Hear her husky voice in Emma’s hear. Knowing things are going relatively back to normal.

Nice.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

Emma hears a rustle on the other line, momentarily distracting her from the dull pang in her chest. Curiosity gets the better of her.

“What’re you doing?”

A pause.

“I’m getting dressed,” Regina answers with deliberate slowness. There’s something low and almost… sensual about Regina’s voice then. “I’d just gotten out of the shower when I called.”

Emma sits up in her chair. She can’t avoid the way her stomach flips as she mumbles a quiet, “Oh.”

The line is eerily silent for a moment. Emma wonders if this is the part where Regina admits she can read Emma’s pervy thoughts.

At least until Regina quietly asks, “And you?”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

Emma brings her knees up to her chest, weighs out the pros and cons to brutal honesty.

Somehow _picturing you_ _naked_ doesn’t sound like an appropriate option.

“Just… sitting,” Emma says lamely.

“Just sitting?” Regina echoes with a throaty chuckle. Emma’s breath snags at the sound.

Shit.

“Are you just breathing, as well?”

Emma is torn between groaning at the slight jab and playing along. She settles for mumbling beneath her breath instead.

“What was that?”

“I said do you have to be so damn snarky all the time?” Emma repeats in a firmer tone, rolling her eyes.

Regina hums in response. “When the moment calls for it.”

“You’re the one who asked me what I was doing.”

“After _you_ asked first,” Regina points out.

“Well what else should I be asking?” Emma says petulantly. “How’s work? What did you cook last week? What’re you wearing?”

Emma’s eyes widen.

She doesn’t mean to voice that final question out loud, no matter how many times it’s entered her mind. Emma feels herself ice up. Waits out the long lull that occurs after that with the distinct urge to throw up.

Shit shit _fuck_.

This can’t be happening.

Finally Regina _does_ speak. And when she does, her voice has dropped down an octave or two.

“Blue silk. With lace at the top.”

Oh my god.

Emma’s heart rate kicks up a notch. The pressure that was building at the base of her spine for the past few minutes nearly splits her in two. She imagines Regina in a silky negligee, all legs and skin, and suddenly Emma’s pajama bottoms feel too warm. She’s entirely too aware of the burning ache settling between her thighs.

“Emma?” Regina whispers.

The raspiness of it is what pulls Emma from her clouded thoughts as she gulps.

“Are you describing your clothes or what you're wearing underneath?” Emma asks, strained.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

This is actually happening.

Emma sits up so quickly, she nearly nose-dives onto the floor in her haste to find a more comfortable position. But her palms are clammy and _god,_ she thinks she might just ruin her underwear from that visual alone.

It’s also been a while since she’s had phone sex. Emma never saw the appeal. But hearing Regina’s voice in her ear, low and husky and dripping with _sex_ \- It’s -

“Emma?” Regina says again.

Emma sucks in a tremulous breath. Relax. Breathe. “Yeah?”

“What are you thinking?”

And Emma could honestly laugh at that moment, but she’s beyond turned on right now to care.

“I'm thinking about the other night, when you were in my bed. Dressed in that little nightgown,” Emma manages to croak. “And I can't stop thinking about how much I wish I’d ripped it right off you.”

Emma listens to the way Regina’s breathing changes through the phone, the tiny hitch in the back of her throat that spurs Emma to continue.

“No barriers. Just you riding me bare,” Emma says. Her heart is racing. She doesn't realize her fingers are creeping under the hem of her pajama pants as she goes on -

“And afterwards it wouldn't have mattered how thin my walls are. Everyone would've been able to hear every breath.”

Emma swallows.

“Every moan you'd make as I fucked you.”

She hears Regina make a noise, a sort of bitten back groan. And Emma has to shut her eyes and concentrate on her own breathing before she barrels through the point of no return.

“Is Robyn asleep?” Regina exhales after a moment, sounding noticeably less put together now. Emma wishes more than anything that Regina was right there beside her.

“Y-yeah.”

“Good.”

There’s another rustle, followed by a soft creak, and Emma’s mouth dries with the images that tear through the haze in her head.

“Regina. Are you…?”

“I'm in my bed now,” Regina answers before Emma can finish.

Emma bites her lip. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I'd rather be lying down for this.”

“For this -”

“Take a wild guess where my hand is right now, Emma.”

There's a breathiness to the words that stops Emma dead in her tracks, soars through her stomach in the way it’s followed by a shaky sigh and then a soft moan. Emma’s imagination is running rampant - she imagines Regina biting her lip, hips arching against the hand she has slipped between her thighs, and Emma just about loses her mind.

It's the final straw in her unraveling self-control before her hand finally finds solace beneath her pajama pants. She runs a finger down the slit of her underwear, unsurprised to find it soaked. Unsurprised to find herself even more sensitive than usual as Emma glides a finger through her folds, hips immediately bucking at the contact.

“Me too,” Emma acknowledges in a strangled whisper.

For a moment she doesn’t hear anything on Regina’s part, not a sound to indicate she’s still on the other line. It unnerves Emma until she hears the demanding husk of Regina’s voice deepen with her next words.

“Are you wet?”

Emma doesn’t respond. She’s too busy replaying Regina’s tone in her head. The fact that Regina just used her _Evil Queen_ voice on her is seriously one of the hottest things Emma’s ever -

“Are you wet for me, Emma?” Regina asks again, deep and gravelly and Emma might as well be signing her death wish right now.

“Very,” Emma says.

The shudder that ripples through Emma’s body has her bucking her hips, sinking further into the firm press of fingers circling against her clit. She imagines them being Regina’s fingers, spreading Emma open and mercilessly teasing her. She imagines Regina’s smile - slow and alluring as she draws up the length of Emma’s body and fucks her on this dingy armchair.

“Regina, I -” Emma cuts herself off with a gasp. There’s something about this situation that is both exhilarating and faintly sadistic. Emma finds she can’t help herself when she says - “Regina. What the hell are we doing?”

The silence that drags on the other line is almost enough to sober Emma up completely. At least until she hits a sensitive spot, Emma’s next words straining on a whimper.

“Not that I _mind_. This definitely beats rubbing one out after all the dreams.”

A beat passes. Emma winces.

She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Dreams?” Regina echoes slowly. Beneath the sliver of amusement in her tone, she sounds surprised. “You’ve had dreams about me?”

Emma huffs out a breath.

“Maybe.”

“What kind of dreams?” Regina asks, in a manner that does nothing to relieve Emma’s libido.

“Isn't that kind of obvious?”

“Humor me.”

And Emma _shouldn't_ , knows without a doubt that she’d be feeding into a fire she has no business feeding into. But it’s the curiosity in Regina’s voice, the subtle plea that Emma has rarely heard before that undoes everything.

“The kind that wakes me up every night,” Emma states honestly. “So I can get the full effect when I come around my fingers.”

“Oh?”

The flirty tone makes heat prickle up the back of Emma’s neck.

“Did you wish they were my fingers?” Regina’s voice drops to a raspier pitch. The sound of it makes Emma squeeze her thighs together.

“Sometimes,” Emma answers and pulls in a breath through her teeth. “Sometimes it’d be… other things.”

“Such as?”

“Your mouth. Your tongue.” Emma’s eyelids shut at this. “Sometimes even a strap-on.”

Emma hears the hitch in Regina’s throat as clearly as she can feel it simmering beneath her skin. She feels hot and shivery all over, more so now that she has a hand crammed between her legs and Regina whispering naughty things into her ear.

“You’ve thought about me using…”

“I thought about _a lot_ of things. I think I - _god_. I'd think about you on your hands and knees, Regina. Naked and ready. I'd see you arching your ass into me when I take you from behind. Or on your back. When you're gasping and panting and scraping your fingernails down my back -”

“On top,” Regina says abruptly.

Emma’s brow furrows. “What?”

“I'd be on top,” Regina clarifies with certainty. “As if I would allow anyone to think I'm some sort of… pillow princess.”

“Honestly I'm surprised you even know what that means. Power bottom, then?”

Regina ignores her.

“I want to make sure you see my face when I’m straddling you, Emma.” At that, Regina releases a drawn-out little groan that ricochets down Emma’s body. “I want to be able to fist your hair, drag your mouth back to mine. Swallow those tiny whimpers you make when you lose control. Map out every inch of your skin. I want you to feel me shudder when I take you in slowly. Inch. By. Inch. I want your eyes focused solely on me when you buck your hips as if you want more. Until you’re buried all the way inside me and the noise you’ll hear me make - that breath of anticipation. Only then will I give you permission to fuck me, _Emma_.”

Slack-jawed, Emma doesn't realize she’d stopped breathing until she lets out a quiet, “holy shit.”

The chuckle she receives in reply should be illegal. “Should I go on?”

 _Yes_ . Emma’s flustered, and _close_ . So close, in fact, that her fingers seem to be functioning on their own accord even when her emotions are in turmoil. There’s the part of her that knows this is all wrong, knows there’s something _missing_. But a larger part, the part that is dominating every last one of Emma’s senses, is beyond the point of caring.

“Emma?”

Just hearing Regina say her name is enough to stir something in Emma. Something hot and primal as she flattens her palm against her clit, rolling her hips down to ride her own fingers. Emma’s thighs tremble, phone nearly slipping past her shoulder as all attempts to respond fall short.

“Emma,” Regina says again. Her voice is strangely soft now. “Tell me what you want.”

“I -”

An answering judder ripples through Emma’s body. She wants to say _you_.

She wants to tell Regina exactly how badly she wants her _here_ , on Emma’s lap, so she can graze her lips against Regina’s skin. So she can say how badly she wants to sink her fingers through Regina’s hair and bring their mouths together.

She wants Regina so badly it physically _hurts_.

“I -” Emma tries again.

“You what?” Regina asks. “What is it, darling? Say it.”

Emma’s heart lurches.

“Fuck, Regina -”

Her breath staggers as her eyes slam shut and she buckles forward. Emma tenses, slick and tight around her fingers, before letting her body go limp against the armchair. In the aftermath of her orgasm, Emma turns a sweaty cheek against her shoulder, mouths a silent ‘ _I love you’_ into the phone.

She hears a slight hitch on the other line, the whispered, barely audible ‘ _Emma_ ’ that makes her think Regina had heard. Emma goes rigid.

Instead Regina offers a shaky exhale that doesn’t quite relieve Emma’s anxiety, but it’s better than what comes afterward.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

A part of Emma wants to feel angry. At herself. At _Regina_. It’s not like Emma was the one who started it.

But it’s not like Emma wasn’t expecting it either. Play with fire and you’ll get burned, or however the saying goes. She just wishes it didn’t hurt as much as it did the first time.

Emma could live a thousand lives and nothing could prepare her for this type of rejection.

“Emma,” Regina says, letting out a tremulous sigh. “Emma, I’m so -”

“I know.”

Emma’s voice is unusually calm despite the block of lead jackhammering in her chest. She hears the apology in Regina’s tone and she can’t fucking stand to _hear it_.

“I know,” Emma repeats and clutches the phone tighter in her hand. “Me too.”

She swallows, stares at a fixed point on the wall that keeps her grounded enough to say -

“I wish we’d had more time.”

A weighted pause. Regina doesn’t question what she means by that, and Emma is grateful for the momentary reprieve.

“I should go. I think Henry’s home,” Regina whispers.

Emma nods, realizing she's still on the line.

“Yeah.”

There’s no immediate response to that. Regina allows the muted tension to settle between them before breaking it.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Night.”

Emma hangs up before she manages to humiliate herself even further, dropping her phone to the floor. It lands with a clank somewhere underneath the coffee table. Emma doesn't pay any mind to it, though. The echo of Regina’s goodnight is still beating in her ears. Dull and taunting.

If she listens closely, she can also hear that same whisper ringing against the heavy drum of her heartbeat. It takes Emma a moment to recognize what it is.

Darling.

It sounds a whole lot like Regina calling her darling.

.

.

It’s nearing midnight by the time Emma finishes decorating the rest of the tree.

It sits by the window in all of its bulky glory, lit up now that Emma wrapped it up in more Christmas lights than she’d known what to do with. But it’s _her_ Christmas tree. Hers and Henry’s.

And if she wants to light the stupid thing up like a firework, then Emma will damn well light it up.

Finally she picks up the swan ornament from earlier. Emma stares at it for a long, wistful minute, taking in the intricacies of the feathers and crown. It really is beautiful. Whether it was pulled out of Henry’s little scheming ass or not, Emma can’t bear to part with it.

In the end she pulls up a chair and deposits it right at the top of the tree, where the star would normally be. She steps back and admires her work.

It's the fifth of December, and as Emma curls up in her chair and lets that achy feeling in her chest settle in, she realizes this is the closest she's going to get to loving Regina from afar. All wrapped up in a pretty swan queen ornament.

And Emma is okay with that. She is.

She has to be.

.

.

“What do you think, Emma? The pink or the yellow?”

Snow holds up a blouse in either hand, both looking like they’ve been puked out by a unicorn and thrown into a firepit. Emma has to stare for a second.

“Neither. Mom, if you give that to Zelena, I’m pretty sure she’ll turn you into a toad. Literally.”

“Too much?”

“More like too ugly.”

Snow gawks at her briefly, clearly offended, before placing the hangers back in a huff. “I have those shirts in my closet.”

“ _No_. I couldn’t tell.”

Shooting her a droll look, Snow wordlessly makes her way through the store, leaving Emma behind in all of her sarcastic misery. She doesn’t even bother following.

It’s days following the friendly bout of phone sex - not that Emma would dare call it that out loud, so she settles for _The Incident_ instead - when Snow drags her out to go Christmas shopping. It’s the last thing Emma wants to do on her day off, but considering she’s been bedridden for the better part of two weeks, Emma’s surprised it’s taken Snow this long to do something about it.

Then there’s Regina.

 _Of course_ it always comes down to Regina.

In the last week alone she had called Emma at least four times. She should feel grateful that Regina kept her promise, but more often than not their conversations are… awkward. Strained.

Almost like they had phone sex not too long after ending their pseudo friends-with-benefits relationship and Emma’s stuck lamenting the fact that she’s painfully and irrevocably in love with her.

So yeah. It’s fucking complicated.

Now Emma is lamenting agreeing to this shopping spree while Snow pummels through every aisle. As the town prepares for its annual Christmas festival, everything is booming with holiday festivity and cheeriness and Emma… is not a fan.

“What about this?” Snow asks and holds up a surprisingly beautiful blue dress. “Do you think Regina will like it?”

Hearing Regina’s name twists up Emma’s insides. She tries to play it cool.

“Yeah. It’s nice,” Emma says in a high-pitched voice. She winces.

Snow eyes her suspiciously. “Just nice?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Snow drawls, smoothing out the dress in a manner that has Emma wondering if this is a trap. “You didn’t used to have any issue showing your interest in Regina in a blue dress.”

Snow then does this thing with her eyebrow that kind of creeps Emma out.

“Or out of one.”

Emma actually _blanches_ . “Oh my god. Nope. _No_ . How can you - we are _not_ going there.”

“And why not?” Snow has the gall to look insulted as she plops the dress into the cart. “I’ve had time to adjust. I can be hip, you know.”

“That’s great and all. Doesn’t mean we have to talk about it,” Emma declares.

“I’m your mother. It’s my job to talk about it,” Snow retorts. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two avoiding each other. Does this have to do with what happened at Thanksgiving?”

Just the mention of it takes Emma back to that night, to the memory of Regina’s soft thighs pressed against Emma’s cheeks, to the look of sheer bliss on Regina’s face while riding Emma’s mouth. It’s an image only distorted by what came afterward.

“There’s nothing going on between Regina and I,” Emma finds herself saying. “Not anymore. She ended it before one of us got hurt. But I guess -”

Emma trails off, the _‘it was too late’_ left unsaid. Snow observes her knowingly.

“But you were hurt anyway,” Snow finishes for her.

All Emma can do is nod.

“It’s my fault,” Emma says, collecting herself. “I never should’ve bought that potion from you. She thinks I was using it to - to - you know what? It was bound to end badly anyway. I let my own feelings get in the way when she doesn’t… maybe it was for the best.”

“Emma. Sweetheart,” Snow soothes while a hand moves to Emma’s cheek. “I love you. But you can be entirely dimwitted like your father sometimes.”

That is… definitely not the response Emma is expecting.

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“That _is_ what dimwitted means,” Snow offers and casually roams through the clothing rack as if Emma hadn’t just poured her heart out a second ago. “You forget that I’ve known Regina longer than anyone. I’ve seen her in love. Granted she’s a bit more bitter now than she was back then. But more like a cup of flavorful coffee. Smokey and hard around the edges -”

“Mom.”

“The point is she still has that same look when she loves something - or _someone_ \- with her whole heart,” Snow says at once and turns to Emma.

“So believe me when I say that woman loves you.”

Emma’s knees suddenly feel weak. It’s the second time someone has assured her of that, and now Emma doesn’t know what to believe.

“Just give her time,” Snow encourages. “Things always have a way of working out in the end.”

Weirdly enough the bright smile Snow offers her is calming despite the worry knotting in Emma’s stomach. “Sometimes I wish I inherited your optimism.”

“It’s a gift.” Snow waves it off, though is obviously pleased. “I take it then it’s too soon for you to give her these for Christmas?”

She pulls out several items from the colossal pile in her cart. Emma has no idea what to make of them until she takes the plastic packaging from Snow and sees the description.

Fairytale Fantasy Nipple Clamps.

They’re nipple clamps.

“Mom. Where the hell did you get these?”

The shock is overwhelming enough to cover up the mortification rising up Emma’s spine. But then she sees the ball gag in Snow’s other hand and Emma takes it back. She’s beyond mortified.

“Aisle six. Next to the candles.”

“What happened to Baby Jesus? I mean - this place is like the fairytale version of _Marshalls_. What -”

“I told you I can be hip,” is all Snow says.

Emma doesn’t dare question her after that.

By three Emma is all shopped out. She manages to escape Snow’s clutches for the most part, but not before grabbing a few things for Henry on the way to Granny’s. She figures he’d like a few new Marvel comics to add to his collection. Maybe the latest Game of Thrones season.

She’s considering buying Regina an elegant-looking antique box when her phone buzzes with a text. Seeing Regina’s name on the screen causes Emma’s heart to jolt.

_Fancy joining me for a drink tonight? xx_

Emma’s forehead creases in confusion. _Fancy_? Never mind the fact that Regina just invited her over for a drink.

What the hell does xx mean?

**_Sure?_ **

A solid minute passes. Emma is starting to get antsy waiting for a response when -

_It’s a yes or a no, Swan. 7 o clock._

Emma nearly drops her phone in her haste to type back.

**_I’ll be there._ **

_Excellent._

_See you then ;)_

A winky face.

Emma is left staring at it in total bewilderment. She has no recollection of how much time passes while she stands there, gaping like a moron. It’s only when the cashier guy clears his throat that Emma becomes aware of the antique jewelry box still being clutched in her hand.

“You gonna buy that or what?”

.

.

And that’s how Emma ends up on Regina Mills’ doorstep on this wintery night.

It’s snowing heavily, blanketing the walkway in fields of white. Emma is both freezing her ass off and brimming with nerves, so she doesn’t quite know whether she should feel relieved or terrified when Regina opens the door, takes one look at her, and -

“Emma?” A frown pinches her features. “What’re you doing here?”

Terrified it is, then.

“You, uh… invited me?” Emma drags it out as a question.

Regina is visibly perplexed and it’s not doing anything to calm Emma’s nerves.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah. You kind of did.” And Emma quickly flaunts her phone as proof, revealing their earlier conversation. “See?”

This only seems to further Regina’s bewilderment. Her eyes narrow at the screen in vague acknowledgement. “I didn’t send that. And… _fancy_? Did I somehow die and wake up British?”

“I -”

Movement catches Emma’s eye from inside. She spots a flash of brown hair before Henry’s head disappears behind the stairwell.

It’s easy enough to connect the dots after that.

“Oh,” Emma breathes over the lump lodged in her throat. She clenches her jaw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I'm sorry.”

“Are those Forget-Me-Nots?”

Regina’s frown melts away first at Emma’s apology, turning into something else entirely when her eyes fall upon the simple bouquet of flowers in Emma’s hand.

Emma almost forgot about them. It had been a last minute decision spurred on by the roses she never made use of. She figured these were a little less cliché.

“Yeah… they are. They’re for you.”

She holds the flowers out to Regina in offering.

“Emma,” Regina says on an exhale, seemingly at a loss for words. She's regarding Emma with the most tender expression, though. The sight of it literally takes Emma’s breath away.

“Henry and I were just decorating our stockings,” Regina says after a moment’s pause, eyes soft and wondering as she takes the flowers. She motions inside. “Would you care to join us?”

.

.

So Emma does.

Of course she does. Because she is and will always be a pining disaster.

It’s worth it even if it’s to spend the first ten minutes glaring her son down from across the coffee table. Henry, of course, remains undeterred. He offers her a self-satisfied grin instead.

Cocky little shit.

“You should’ve called, Mom. I would’ve saved you some decorations if I knew you were coming,” he tells her and holds up his own bedazzled stocking.

Emma can’t contain her snort.

“And ruin your master plan of stealing your Mom’s phone so you can trick me into coming here? Never,” Emma says flatly.

“I didn’t steal Mom’s phone.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your wicked aunty sure had something to do with it.”

Henry doesn’t confirm or deny the accusation, so Emma takes the opportunity to observe Regina from her corner of the couch. She’s standing by the kitchen island, adjusting the flowers into a vase with so much reverence. Emma tries her best to be discreet about it, but it’s difficult when she’d spent two weeks missing Regina and her heart aches like nothing else.

Eventually Emma doesn’t care that she’s flat out staring when Regina brings the flowers to her nose. A soft, fond smile curves Regina’s mouth. And then she’s dragging her gaze back up, eyes locking with Emma’s.

Emma hastily looks away.

“Let me guess. You’re calling it Operation Parent-Trap?” Emma adds as an afterthought, mostly to hide the fact that she’d been caught staring.

“Operation Swan Queen, actually.”

He says it with conviction, not an ounce of humor in his voice.

He’s actually serious.

Emma doesn’t have time to awkwardly laugh it off before Regina is striding back in with two mugs of cocoa. Perking up at the sight, Emma gratefully accepts hers, her stomach doing a little flip when she catches Regina’s gaze again.

Fuck. This is going to be a long night.

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry says and smiles sweetly. It’s all a ruse, undoubtedly. Emma knows a demonic smile when she sees one. “What do you think? Can we take a picture?”

He holds up his stocking again, the word _Henry_ stitched at the top in extravagant letters.

“It’s beautiful,” Regina croons gently. “And of course. Let me grab my phone.”

“I was actually thinking of getting the camera from upstairs. You know, the nice one.”

Regina falters. “Henry. That’s in the attic.”

“Yeah,” Henry says, nonchalant, already making his way upstairs. “I’ll probably be a few minutes. You guys can start filling up the stockings without me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to -”

“Champagne’s under the tree!” he shouts out of the blue as he vanishes upstairs. It’s so random and definitely screams _staged_ that Emma shouldn’t be surprised when she peers over their Christmas tree to discover that he’s right.

There’s a bottle of champagne casually sitting there, perched alongside two wine glasses and an entire array of decorative candles, all of which are lit up.

Well that’s a fire hazard.

But it’s also shamelessly romantic. Maybe even tasteful. Emma isn’t sure whether to be enraged or impressed.

Regina tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I assure you that wasn’t there before,” she says, obviously embarrassed. Emma can’t help but find the pink tinge on her cheeks captivating. “Henry’s been… I suppose it doesn't matter. Just give me a minute to clean this up.”

“Do you have to?” Emma stands, swooping down to pick up the bottle. “I mean, why waste out on a good bottle of…”

She squints. She has no idea how to pronounce the fucking label.

“Veve klick-kwot?”

Regina’s mouth tips up in amusement. “It’s pronounced Verve Klee-Koh.”

“I took Spanish in high school.”

“I hope it’s not as bad as your French.”

There’s no animosity in Regina’s tone. Her eyes are still gleaming with mirth, and Emma feels daring enough to pop open the bottle.

“Puedo hablar un poco.” Emma shrugs. “See? Not bad for ninth grade Spanish.”

It’s hard to miss the eyeroll Regina gives her. Emma fills up both glasses, hesitating only slightly when she notices Regina contemplating her. She doesn’t know what the look is supposed to mean. But Snow’s words continue to echo in Emma’s head.

The urge to _know_ becomes stronger with each passing minute.

“So.” Emma says. The tension is creeping back in.

Regina stares expectantly at her over the rim of her glass.

“So.”

“What was that about filling up our stockings?”

That seems to do the trick. Regina practically beams as if only now remembering the stockings. No doubt she’d chuck a fireball at Emma for thinking it’s really fucking adorable.

Emma desperately wants to close the distance and kiss her.

“It’s a tradition we’ve had for years,” Regina explains. “When Henry was younger, he’d fill up a stocking with his old toys, for the children who didn’t have any. Along with a letter for Santa. He’d wake up on Christmas day excited to see what new things Santa put in his stocking.”

Emma’s heart clenches a little. “That sounds nice.”

Regina hums in response. “As he got older and discovered Santa wasn’t real, we would exchange stockings instead. Fill them up with candy. Pictures. Memories, really. So instead of writing a letter to Santa each year, he would write one to me.”

“That's…” _Stupidly sweet._ “What would he write?”

“What any eight year old boy would write about,” Regina drawls. “How much he wanted that cool toy race car he saw in a movie. Up until he was ten, when he -”

Regina’s words come to a measured halt. Emma doesn't question it, silently showcasing her understanding.

“After the curse broke,” Regina continues and draws in a steady breath. “He made sure to write down that he loved me from then on.”

Emma swallows. Her throat feels annoyingly tight.

“Smooth kid.”

“Yes. I guess your family can live up to its Charming name occasionally,” Regina says wryly.

“That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“Not in your lifetime, Swan.”

That pulls a laugh from Emma, who stops short once she becomes aware of the meager distance between them. She had edged closer at some point, drawn by Regina’s story. Or maybe Regina herself.

Either way Regina doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

But Emma? Emma can count every eyelash, take in every detail of Regina’s features and everything inside her just _yearns._

The admiration must be written clear across her face because Regina smiles a little.

“What?”

Emma blinks. “What?”

“You’re staring,” Regina says, mouth ticking up. “Again.”

Emma is unable to contain her own smile at the familiarity of all this. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Regina fiddles with the stem of her champagne glass, eyes searching Emma’s face. They hold her gaze for a long, suspended moment, darting to Emma’s mouth and back up. Emma can’t figure out if she imagined Regina taking that small step forward - she might never know.

Because before long Henry is charging back down the stairwell.

“Found it!” he exclaims, holding up a vintage looking polaroid camera.

Regina immediately steps back, much to Emma’s chagrin. At this rate their son is either a master schemer or a total cockblock.

“Huddle up, you guys,” he says. “Picture time.”

Regina spares him a bemused glance, before asking, “Picture? Of what?”

“Just the two of you. It's for a scrapbook I'm working on.”

“I think I'll pass, kid. You know I don't do pictures,” Emma says cautiously.

“Come on, Moms,” he pleads, and pins them with the biggest doe eyes Emma has _ever_ seen. “ _Please?_ ”

The second Regina turns to her with a Queenly glare, Emma’s royal ass is a goner.

“I can’t get out of this, can I?”

Regina lifts her eyebrow in challenge. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

It’s as good of a threat as any. Emma sighs.

“Where do you want us?”

“In that corner over there,” Henry replies cheerfully.

Staggering her way over beside Regina, Emma does her best to keep the grumbling to a minimum. She does stand stiffly in her designated corner, up until Henry chirps in -

“Closer.”

Emma tosses him a dirty look, but nonetheless shuffles closer to Regina, feeling her insides jump when she accidentally grazes Regina’s hand.

“ _Closer_ ,” Henry demands.

“Kid, what the hell -”

“Oh, wow. Look at that,” he cuts in and gestures to the ceiling. To the small cluster of twigs and berries incidentally hanging above them. “Mistletoe. I wonder how _that_ got there.”

His face is a picture perfect mask of innocence, voice devoid of inflection. Emma wants to throw a sock at his head. But she doesn’t trust herself to have functioning use of her hands when there’s something cold dipping between her ribs.

“I guess it’s tradition to kiss, right?” he urges.

“Henry…” Regina stands frozen next to her, obviously taking it about as well as Emma was expecting. Her voice is audibly strained as she says, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not? It’s just a kiss.”

“ _Henry_.”

“And you’re _friends_ , aren’t you -”

“Oh, for the love of - just _shut up_. Both of you,” Emma snaps, irritated now. She ignores Regina’s look of outrage and points a finger at Henry.

“ _You_. This is the last straw. You’re in so much trouble, kid. It’s not even funny.”

For once, Henry’s stare is somewhat remorseful. “But -”

“ _No buts_ . Your room. _Now_.” It must be this whole stern parent thing that is giving her an extra bout of courage, because she’s pivoting back to face Regina. “Regi -”

Emma freezes.

She’s struck speechless by Regina’s eyes, which are roaming Emma’s face, gauging her reaction. There’s something dark and heavy about them, and it’s making every cell in Emma’s body light up like firecrackers. She has no idea what to do.

Fuck it.

She reaches out to run a hand across Regina’s jawline, listens to the slight intake of breath Regina sucks in as soon as she does. Emma’s final thought before she steps in is a flat -

_I’m so dead._

She doesn’t go for a kiss. As much as she craves being able to kiss Regina again, Emma shifts forward and wraps her arms around Regina’s waist instead. Lets her body mold into Regina’s and her head dip into the crest between Regina’s neck and shoulder.

It’s a new feeling. Different, especially when hugging isn’t something they’ve done before. Emma can sense Regina’s hesitation, the tension coiled in her body, but a second later she’s draping her arms over Emma’s shoulders, pulling her in closer. Tighter. She slips a hand gently into Emma’s hair, pressing her nose against it, and Emma’s chest _swells_.

“You’re getting a little sentimental there, Miss Swan,” Regina murmurs into her hair, and Emma lets out a small puff of laughter against Regina’s neck.

There’s no way of knowing how much time passes when the click of a camera breaks the silence.

Emma doesn’t have it in her to scold Henry this time around.

.

.

Instead Emma fills his stocking with coal.

It’s a petty thing to do. But she refuses to be that type of bitchy mom no matter how pissed off she might be. So she adds in some of his favorite candy bars for good measure. A picture of the two of them that she’s kept in her wallet for some time now.

Maybe Regina’s right. Maybe she _is_ getting too sentimental.

As for Regina’s stocking - that was a far more difficult endeavor.

By the end of the night, Emma decides on two things. One is a glassy swan ornament with a golden crown on its head, not dissimilar to the one Henry had given her. She’d found it tucked away on top of their tree, and Emma had stolen it with the intention of gifting it back because _why not_.

The second thing is a letter.

It takes Emma multiple attempts to flesh it out word for word. It’s intimate and sappy and hella _sentimental_. Emma tosses it away in agitation and promptly scribbles on a scrap of paper before she changes her mind.

The words on the page stare back at her with simplicity.

.

.

_I love you._

.

.

.

.

.

As the days pass by, Emma begins to see Regina more and more.

Whether it’s to pitch in ideas for the upcoming festival, run into each other at Granny’s, or inadvertently storm through the Mayor’s office, not a day goes by that Emma somehow… stumbles into her. Literally.

None of it is intentional, or remotely coincidental. In fact, if Emma had to guess, she'd wager it has everything to do with Dipwads One and Two.

AKA her son and Zelena.

AKA the two demon spawns from the deepest fiery pits of hell.

“Why are you even _in_ on this?” Emma gripes at Zelena. She’s not even going to attempt niceties this time when she’s shoveling snow off Regina’s driveway and it just so happens to have been yet _another_ trap.

“Don’t you have citizens to torture? _Tea_ to drink?”

Zelena scrunches her face. “Why would I be drinking tea?”

“You’re _British_.”

Emma drops the shovel on the ground harder than necessary and wipes down her gloves. It had been storming the last two days, leaving the town covered in sheets of snow. The last thing Emma needs to see is Zelena’s face leering at her from the porch.

“Need I remind you that I’m a fairytale character from Oz?” Zelena drones over her mug, perched comfortably on her rocking chair.

Emma has no idea where it came from.

She scowls and folds her arms. “Whatever. You didn’t have to fake a burglary to get me to come here, you know. You could’ve just asked.”

“And miss out on all the fun? My. You really are naive.”

“Fun?” Emma mimics. “You think it was _fun_ trying to sneak in through a two story window? I _fell on my ass_ . And Regina nearly _castrated_ it.”

Zelena waves a hand. “Dramatics. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been the burglar then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And the two of you are stubborn twats. How hard is it for you to shag my sister? She’s related to _me_. She’s bloody beautiful.”

Well. Emma can’t argue with that.

Whipping off her gloves, Emma sighs into the frigid air and vows to never attempt another break-in again. Her ass is still soggy from falling out the window, and so she trudges her way back to the front door.

“I’m going in to dry off.”

“Any dryer and you’ll be spitting dust out of your cunt,” Zelena snickers.

Emma ignores her.

She sweeps into the laundry room to change into a pair of sweats she finds laying around. At first she thinks they belong to Henry, though judging by the slimmer fit, Emma is enjoying the thought of them belonging to Regina a little _too_ much.

Regina is already there when Emma enters the kitchen. Emma stops and hangs back for a moment, watching as Regina crosses over to the counter, preparing lunch.

As soon as Regina sees her, she pauses, her gaze dropping to Emma’s new attire.

“I see you’re back to stealing my clothes again.”

Emma peers down. “These are yours? _You_ wear sweatpants?”

“I had a moment of weakness,” Regina says in lieu of a real answer and takes off her apron. Because _of course_ she wears an apron while making sandwiches.

“You call it weakness. I say it's -”

_Unreasonably cute._

Emma pushes the thought away. “Convenient?”

Regina doesn't seem too impressed by that response, so Emma changes the subject.

“My jeans were wet. I didn't exactly fall into a field of flowers.”

“True,” Regina agrees, vaguely amused. “You could’ve also used magic. Though I suppose you can’t ‘magic’ common sense into existence, can you?”

“Har har.”

When Regina simply observes her, Emma fidgets under the weighted stare that she can only describe as _concerned._

“You’re bleeding,” Regina points out, gesturing to Emma’s head. “Right… there.”

Pressing a palm to her forehead, Emma immediately winces.

“Oh. Yeah. Must've caught a branch on the way down.”

Regina’s eye roll is somehow both annoyed and affectionate. “I honestly don’t know how you've managed to survive this long. Sit. I have a first aid kit here somewhere.”

Emma frowns. “Can't you just, I don’t know. _Poof_ it away?”

“Unless you want to risk me ‘poofing’ a scar onto your face, we should clean it up the old fashioned way.”

“Look, it’s fine. You don’t have to -”

“Emma,” Regina sighs. “Just sit. Please.”

It's the quiet _please_ that brings Emma’s next argument to a complete halt.

“...Okay.”

Emma reluctantly plops down on top of the counter as she waits for Regina to come back. It doesn't take long. She has a first aid kit clutched in her hands as she settles by Emma’s side and sorts through its contents.

“You’re overreacting, you know. It’s just a cut,” Emma gripes.

“Forgive me for caring about your wellbeing.”

“Am I hearing this right? Is Regina Mills going _soft_?”

Regina shoots her a pointed look.

“Hold still,” she says and holds up a cotton swab, presumably doused in alcohol. “This is going to hurt.”

“Can’t hurt as bad as everything else we’ve been through,” Emma attempts to joke.

 _Attempts_ , but it comes out more pained and slightly accusatory, and Regina’s eyes pin her with a rueful stare. One that communicates.

Just as the air between them grows thick, Regina presses the gauze to Emma’s head.

Emma hisses.

“You were saying, mighty Savior?” Regina deadpans over a faint smile, holding the gauze more firmly.

“Touché.”

The pain is more manageable after a few more swabs, at which point Emma begins to focus on the pinched look of concentration on Regina’s face. As corny as it sounds, the sight of it is fucking charming. Unfortunately it also makes Emma’s heart twinge in her chest.

“There,” Regina mutters as she finishes up. She fishes out a bandage from the box. “I haven’t had to use these since Henry was younger.”

“Are those _Scooby Doo_ bandaids?”

“Much younger,” Regina clarifies, smiling fully now.

Emma feels ridiculous. But Regina could plaster fifty Scooby Doo bandaids onto Emma’s face, and Emma would without a doubt get down on her knees and let her. If that doesn’t prove how far gone she is, nothing would.

Once she’s all wrapped up, Emma doesn’t care how stupid she must look when her gaze finds Regina’s again. Her eyes flit between Emma’s, searching. Much to Emma’s surprise, it’s Regina who brings a hand between them and runs her fingers along the side of Emma’s head, just over the bandaid.

She brushes a thumb across Emma’s cheekbone. Emma feels as if her heart is going to burst right out of her chest any minute.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, throat tight.

Regina opens her mouth to respond, but pauses, her expression turning confused over the sound of music faintly playing from the parlor.

Emma has to strain her ears to hear the cheery Christmas music.

But she’s pretty sure _Baby, it’s Cold Outside_ isn’t supposed to play during questionably romantic moments like this.

“Henry must have left the record player on last night,” Regina mutters, her warm hand still resting delicately over Emma’s cheek. Emma has to resist the urge to lean into it.

“Henry. Right.”

She’s going to kill Zelena.

“I’ll go turn it off,” Regina offers, much to Emma’s disappointment.

Except when she draws back, Emma spots the mistletoe over the kitchen archway as swiftly as it takes to _mystically_ appear there.

Emma panics, grabs onto Regina’s forearm. “Wait.”

“Emma, what -”

“I’ll go,” she insists. There's no telling what fiasco awaits outside and Emma is _so_ not going to risk it.

Just as she's scooting off the counter, though, Emma sees them - an entire _bundle_ of mistletoe sprigs dangling in mid air above them.

“You've _got_ to be kidding me.”

Regina follows her gaze. “What’re you -”

She doesn't get to finish.

A chair jolts against the floor, shoving Emma forward and straight into Regina. The force of it is enough to knock them both over. Emma wishes she could say she took the brunt of the impact.

But like any cheesy romcom, she faceplants right on top of Regina instead, cushioning the fall.

Regina peers up at her, flushed and surprised and most definitely _livid_.

At least Regina’s boobs are really nice.

“ _Emma!_ ”

Emma struggles to get up. “That wasn’t _me_.”

“Oh, and I suppose you were magically _pushed_?”

“Now that you mention it - _yes_ ,” Emma grits out.

Zelena comes sashaying in a second later, takes one look at Emma's sprawled ass from over the rim of the mug she has cradled in her hands.

And then cackles.

“I could be shagging a dwarf and it would be less excruciating than this travesty,” she motions to them, perching herself on the chair beside Emma. She raises her mug in delight.

“Tea, anyone?”

.

.

As it turns out, there really isn’t anything more excruciating than Emma’s current travesty.

Or her ‘homosexual debacle’ as Zelena likes to call it.

She’s fallen into this sinking hole of self-awareness and now all she can do is play the waiting game. After stupidly putting a love note inside Regina’s stocking, there’s not a whole lot of waiting left to do. Emma guesses it’s a start - clear the air without having to face the rejection head on.

Maybe then things can finally go back to normal.

Emma snorts. “As if we were ever normal.”

As if.

It’s two days after the fiasco at Regina’s. Christmas Eve.

And the town is brimming with holiday celebration now that the festival is up and running. Emma hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the aesthetic over the last few years - what, with the constant monsters and curses and fairytale bullshit that always seems to plague Storybrooke.

But now there are lights that trace each peaked roof of every shop, lining every tree and fence. Harp music fills the air over all the charoling. Aside from Happy, who was charged with multiple counts of sexual harassment and shunned into a different realm several months ago (though not without Regina setting his ass on fire. Literally), the dwarves are all singing.

Emma thought that might be the strangest thing she’d see all night, but then she’d spotted Granny over by the Town Hall tree, dressed as Santa. Beard and all.

It’s honestly so fucking surreal.

The park is no less festive, but a lot quieter, Emma notices. Which is why when Snow eventually makes her way to Emma’s place on the park bench, Emma silently groans.

“Is there a reason why you’re out here all by yourself?” Snow asks and takes the empty seat beside her. “Henry’s been looking for you.”

“I know,” Emma grumbles. “Hence why I’m here.”

‘Operation Swan Queen,’ as it’s been clearly dubbed, has not been put on the backburner these last few days. He’d thrown a mistletoe at her head earlier today.

If Emma has to experience one more Parent Trap-esque moment via her son, she can officially say her life is one big fucking joke.

“Back in the Enchanted Forest, we used to celebrate the Winter Solstice,” Snow tells her, unnecessarily.

Emma bites her tongue. “Why celebrate Christmas then?”

“After twenty-eight years of living under a curse, all these modern customs become ingrained in your head. This isn’t too different from the festivals we had in our realm, though. At least we can say there’s plumbing.”

“Yeah.” Emma nods. “Plumbing’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm.”

Emma heaves out a sigh. “No offense, Mom. But why are you here?”

Snow stands up. “I thought we could go for a walk.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I insist.”

That’s definitely reassuring.

Emma warily follows her off the bench. The sun had long since disappeared, painting the sky pitch black with shades of lighting in between. For a while she’s content to stroll by Snow’s side in silence, not straying too far from the lake, where there are people skating along the frozen edges. Emma can almost say it’s relaxing.

It doesn’t last long, of course. Snow decides to open her mouth.

“So how are things between you and Regina?”

Emma crosses her arms, tucks her chin into her scarf. “You can’t even pretend to be subtle, can you?”

“Honey, subtlety doesn’t work with you. There’s not a jackhammer on this realm that can drill into that thick head of yours,” Snow points out nonchalantly.

Emma isn’t sure whether to be offended by that or not.

“I want you to be happy,” Snow says after a long pause, giving Emma’s hand a light squeeze. “ _Both_ of you.”

“Not everyone can have a happy ending like you and Dad.”

“Maybe not. But you can’t lose out on a chance for one just because you’re too scared to try. The first step is admitting it.”

They come to a gradual stop, soothing music drifting in from the distance as Emma turns around to face her.

“Admit what?”

“How you feel,” Snow elaborates, not that that helps clarify things. “Admit that you love her, Emma.”

Emma’s frown deepens as she fixes Snow with a reproachful stare. “Don’t. I’m not doing this.”

“At some point you have to stop being afraid.”

“I’m not… _afraid_ ,” Emma lies through her teeth. “There’s just no point! I put a _note_ in her stocking, Mom. A note that says… it doesn’t matter. Either way she’s going to find out by tomorrow morning. We’ll get through an awkward conversation so she can tell me that this will never work. So she can reject me a _second_ time. Then _maybe_ we can all. Move. _On_.”

Snow had been calmly watching her through her rant, eyes soft and understanding. Emma briefly simmers down.

Very briefly.

“I’m still waiting,” Snow says.

“God - fine. _I love her_ , okay?” Emma snaps. “I’m _in_ love with her. I’m in love with Regina. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

“Very,” Snow says, visibly pleased with herself, before motioning behind them. “Now go ask her to dance.”

“What?”

Emma whips around so quickly she strains her neck. There, sitting a good forty feet away, is Regina. Emma doesn’t think she’s noticed them yet through the crowd, but just the sight of her is enough to make Emma’s breath snag.

“You plotted this, didn’t you?” Emma accuses. “You, _too_?”

Snow remains undeterred. “Coincidence. Here, take this for good luck.”

She pulls out a small figurine from fuck-knows-where and drops it into Emma’s unsuspecting hands.

Emma gawks at it. “ _This_ is for good luck? Your baby Jesus statue? Are you _insane_?”

Snow waves both her hands in a ‘shoo’ motion. “Go.”

“There’s no way in _hell_ -”

Snow gives her a little shove. “Oh, gosh darn it. _Go_.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

Eventually Emma _does_ go. She forces herself to walk forward even though her knees feel weak, and she’s pretty sure Snow is watching her every move. By some miracle, she doesn’t faceplant into the snow.

Regina is typing a message into her phone as Emma nears, doesn’t so much as glance up.

Emma clears her throat.

“Madame Mayor.”

If Regina is startled by the interruption, she doesn’t show it. She peers up to regard Emma, a smile forming on her lips, before trailing her gaze down to the baby Jesus statue still cradled in her hands.

She raises her eyebrows. “Are you about to gift me with one of your mother’s ugly statues?”

“I, um…” Emma hastily sets it down on the ground. “Ignore that. It’s for safekeeping.”

“I see.”

Emma doesn’t think so. Regina offers a highly dubious look, one that Emma meets with hesitation.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, Emma. But was there something you wanted?” Regina asks.

“Just seeing if you needed any help once the festival’s over.”

“Henry’s already offered to take care of the cleanup. Surprisingly Zelena did as well,” Regina states, unaware of Emma’s current emotional distress. “Although you can tell Snow that her nuns are running rampant again. One of them threatened Granny with a spatula. Something about tarnishing the masculine image of Saint Nicholas. I’m sure it would’ve turned into a bloodbath if I hadn’t -”

“Dance with me.”

The words spew out of Emma’s mouth so quickly, for a second she isn’t sure if she’d said them. But Regina’s wide eyes are darting between Emma’s, face wrinkled in wonder, and Emma knows she had heard.

“What?”

Emma swallows. Go big or go home, right?

She holds out her hand.

“Dance with me,” Emma says again, more boldly this time.

Regina stares at the offered hand over a mixture of shock and uncertainty, as if Emma is going to attack any minute. It disheartens Emma just enough that she nearly pulls her hand back.

But then Regina reaches for it, clasping it between her own. Her eyes gleam with something Emma can’t name when she stands up, her gaze meeting Emma’s.

“Okay.”

.

.

_Okay._

There’s a small courtyard further down the trail that is more secluded, a white terrace propped up high above the ground, extending into a bridge. Emma leads them there, stopping temporarily to listen to the music filtering in from the distance.

Right. Emma is starting to regret this.

This is terrifying.

“I didn’t leave my bench just so we can stand here, Swan,” Regina says sardonically.

There’s an edge to her voice that almost sounds _nervous_. It’s that small display of vulnerability that catches Emma off guard.

“I know. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Regina purses her lips. “Right moment for what?”

Rather than replying, Emma does a stupid little bow that makes her feel absurd, but she’s extending out her hand again.

“First, you escort your partner to the dance floor.”

It’s a recall to their moment in the kitchen all those weeks ago, when things were fine and uncomplicated and Emma didn’t spend every waking moment wishing it had all gone differently. Regina seems to know it, too, because her lips turn up into a more genuine smile.

There’s no hesitation when she slides her hand into Emma’s.

“And?” Regina says, coy.

Emma grins. “Then we position our arms like so.”

She demonstrates by guiding Regina’s arms around Emma’s shoulders, beckoning her in close.

“And then we -”

“Sway?” Regina interjects.

Emma huffs. “You’re ruining my game.”

Regina’s soft laughter wraps around Emma like silk. Her smile never fails to set Emma’s heart racing.

It doesn’t disappear even as Regina draws nearer, relaxes against her and and lets her forehead tilt into Emma’s. The gesture sends a warm tingle down Emma’s spine.

“And then we sway,” Emma confirms quietly.

The music has changed. While there was some awful variation of Jingle Bell Rock playing in the background a minute ago, a slower tempo plays from afar.

Something in the air shifts with it - Emma senses it in the way Regina melts into her, fingers threaded limply in Emma’s hair. In the press of Regina’s body that is making Emma's lungs implode beneath her ribs. It's _thick_. Electrifying.

It's also fucking stupid. They're dancing like two pubescent middle schoolers, but Emma wouldn't give up a second of it for the world.

“It's snowing again,” Regina says, her voice dropping to a low murmur into Emma’s hairline.

Emma shivers. She knows damn well it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Yeah,” Emma notes. She watches the thin cascade of snowfall around them before grinning.

“You’ve got some… in your hair.”

“How unfortunate,” Regina says dryly.

“Wanna borrow my beanie?”

“Emma. Does it _look_ like I can pull off something that ridiculous?”

Emma ignores the jab. “Actually, yeah. I think you’d look -”

She trails off abruptly. Doesn’t bother hiding her reaction when Emma spots the mistletoe this time, dangling above them like this is a sure sign that her life is meant to go to utter shit.

Regina follows her gaze wordlessly. Her face remains carefully neutral while Emma struggles to come up with something to say.

She doesn’t quite know _how_ to say that everyone in this family is a meddling asshole.

“Well?” Regina says after a long stretch of silence. She’s staring back at Emma intently. “I’m waiting.”

Emma blinks.

“You… _want_ me to kiss you?”

“What I _want_ is for our son and my dimwit sister to stop spying on us from that bush over there,” Regina retorts, not that Emma had any idea that they’re being watched anyhow. “But it wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Would it?”

There’s that same flash of vulnerability again. Emma’s face creases in confusion. Even when the thought of kissing Regina makes Emma’s knees wobble, she has to clarify -

“So… you _don’t_ want me to kiss you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Regina’s expression sours, going from unguarded to irritated.

“You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know,” Regina sighs. She steps away from Emma’s hold. “We should head back. It’s getting late.”

And god _no_ . That’s the complete _opposite_ of what Emma wants.

Everything was going so well, and she’s already managed to fuck it all up. _Again_. The panic Emma feels is downright crippling.

She reaches for Regina’s hand. “Wait.”

If there’s a word to describe Regina’s face right then, it would definitely be _scary_. She has her scary face on. Emma flinches.

“Miss Swan. Let me go or so help m- _mmf_.”

Mmf. The sound will forever be ingrained in Emma’s head.

It’s the sound of potentially life threatening ideas - the firm press of Emma’s mouth against Regina’s prevents her from finishing that sentence.

And then -

“About _fucking_ time! You dumb prats.”

The foggy part of Emma’s mind doesn’t even take into account that there’s someone in the background shrieking.

A hand dives to Regina’s waist, the other coming up to cup Regina’s cheek. The kiss is clumsy at first. A hard clash of lips that Emma desperately clings on to.

Regina exhales into it, lets out a soft, wanting noise that makes Emma soar.

It takes several sluggish seconds for Regina to react. She sinks into the contact, letting her arms settle back around Emma’s shoulders, mouth opening under Emma’s. The husky groan Regina releases into her mouth sets Emma on fire.

Fuck.

She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this alive.

Emma’s senses are overwhelmed by everything _Regina._ Her perfume. The soft, sticky touch of her lipstick. The heat of her body. Emma swears she can feel the thump of Regina’s heartbeat through their layers of clothes.

She missed this. It’s beyond comprehension, how badly she’d missed being able to kiss Regina again.

“I really fucking missed this,” Emma pants into the space between their lips.

The _I missed you_ goes left unsaid, but Emma sees the recognition for what it is in Regina’s eyes. Eyes that are wide and unimaginably dark. Emma dips her head in to plant kisses along Regina’s jaw.

Regina’s response is a raspy burst of laughter. The sound of it warms Emma to her core.

Regina’s fingers absently scratch at the shorter hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck, and Emma has the burning need to lean in and kiss her all over again

She doesn't have to. Regina palms her cheek, tugs Emma back in to bring their mouths together once more.

There’s a ferocity to the kiss now. Deep and urgent. She doesn’t - _can’t_ stop kissing Regina, even when Emma’s hands are roaming and she’s being reduced to heavy panting. Regina hums into her and the vibrations ripple through Emma, spurring her to swipe her tongue along the seal of Regina’s lips. Regina sinks right into the wet slide of Emma’s tongue, sucks on Emma’s bottom lip.

Bites it.

A jolt shoots through Emma’s stomach.

And it’s through the soft groan Regina emits, the not-at-all subtle roll of her hips that Emma decides that she is thoroughly, _shamelessly_ turned on.

Eventually Emma drags her mouth away. Her breath is coming in quickened puffs, and the heated glaze in Regina’s eyes is doing nothing to quell the throbbing between Emma’s legs.

“We should go,” Regina says. Her heavy-lidded stare moves from Emma’s eyes to her mouth.

As if that isn’t enough, she draws in closer, lips brushing Emma’s earlobe.

“Come home with me.”

Home.

The suggestive, throaty edge of the words puts a stop to Emma’s breathing altogether.

“Okay.”

.

.

Emma isn’t normally the type of jackass to assume things like when she’s going to get laid. She's always been a stickler for consent, not to mention there are too many variables to consider that can change through the course of a night. But she’s fairly confident tonight is the night that she is.

Getting laid, that is.

There's no room for doubt when Regina magically poofs them both to the mansion, silently hangs up her coat in the calmest fashion possible -

And then presses a hand into Emma’s sternum, shoving her into the nearest wall and kissing her so hard, Emma actually sees stars.

Emma gasps into Regina’s mouth, feels her knees tremble when Regina licks into her at first, tongue flicking towards the roof of her mouth. Fingers tug off Emma’s beanie and tangle in her hair. And then her scarf.

Emma doesn’t hesitate to press forward. She molds her body into Regina’s, the pliant warmth of her drawing a shaky moan from Emma.

The kiss is _dirty_. Deep and obscene. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed like this before. Like the only way for Regina to get through this exchange is to outright fuck her mouth.

They kiss until Emma’s jaw aches and her lungs burn. And when Regina pulls away, it’s with a filthy chuckle hitting Emma’s mouth in a gust.

Emma has to put a hand on the wall behind her to brace herself because _Jesus._

That sound definitely soaked right through her underwear.

“Upstairs,” Regina mutters, dipping inside the opening of Emma’s coat to shrug it off.

Emma is too light-headed to respond. She edges forward to capture Regina’s lips again, but her hand remains on Emma’s sternum, holding her back.

“Regina -”

“I know you’re wet for me,” Regina says, half under her breath. She snares Emma’s bottom lip with her teeth. “I can smell you.”

“ _Fuck_. Regina.”

Emma has to stop herself from arching fully off the wall, instead curling her hand over the back of Regina’s neck and crushing their mouths together in another bruising kiss. Her other hand finds Regina’s in the space between them, guiding it underneath Emma’s unfastened jeans. Under the low-rise waistband of Emma’s thong.

Emma feels the sharp breath Regina sucks in when she presses herself into Regina’s fingers; letting them slide into the slickness gathered there, pooling between her thighs.

There’s no denying it. Emma’s _drenched_.

“Satisfied?” Emma whispers. Her groan is muffled by the seal of their lips as Regina dips her fingers further between Emma’s folds. They skid just over her clit.

Emma’s head thuds against the wall.

“Very,” Regina replies, peering up to observe Emma with the darkest set of eyes Emma has seen to this day.

She feels the sudden, frustrating absence of Regina’s heat when Regina withdraws. The frustration is short-lived as Regina grabs for Emma’s hand, motioning her to follow.

“Upstairs.”

Emma doesn't need to be told a third time.

 _Somehow_ they fumble their way to Regina’s bedroom, hands clambering and mouths seeking skin the entire way up. At one point Emma has to stop them in the middle of the stairwell to hike Regina up against the railing, Emma’s lips latching onto her throat. Her palms dig into Regina’s ass - in time for Regina to meet it with a deliberate grind of her hips.

Regina yanks her back up into a kiss that Emma meets with equal fervor. They topple over on the next step, causing Regina to laugh hoarsely into Emma's mouth. Something about that makes Emma’s chest bloom with uncontained emotion.

“There's no way in hell I’m letting you fuck me on this staircase when there's a bed,” Regina murmurs.

Emma’s breath snags in her throat.

She can agree to that.

Once in the bedroom, Emma realizes she had long been stripped of her shirt, leaving her in a simple green, cotton bra. Regina doesn’t hesitate in closing the gap between them again. She slips a hand inside Emma’s unfastened jeans, drags them down as far they will go, and then nuzzles her lips to Emma’s earlobe. Nips it.

“Undress me,” she says softly.

Emma thinks she might come from hearing those words alone.

She seeks out the hem of Regina’s dress first - because only Regina Mills would wear a fucking dress during a winter in Maine - and tugs it up. Tugs until it’s bunched at Regina’s waist, until Emma’s hands turn clammy from hooking her thumbs over the sheer stockings and lacy panties. Pulls them down.

Emma isn’t entirely conscious of her own movements until Regina is standing before her, completely naked. It’s a vision she recognizes as a total blessing. The last time Emma has seen her this bare, it was by accident. Bathtub incident.

Now it’s on purpose and Emma’s insides are rolling over.

“You’re so beautiful,” Emma finds herself saying, short of a whisper.

The dazzling little smile Regina sends her makes Emma’s heart clutch.

“It’s your turn, you know,” Regina states, and Emma readily interprets that to mean it’s her turn to undress.

She’s partly right. Except instead of ridding Emma of her last few garments, Regina shoves her.

Literally.

Emma is caught so off guard, she yelps when her back collides with the mattress, and Regina is right there at the edge of the bed, on her _knees_ , peeling off Emma’s remaining clothes. Her jeans are immediately discarded, followed by her underwear. The sight of it, of Regina kneeling on the floor before her, is unfathomably hot; it makes Emma forget how exposed she is in this position.

It only occurs to her when Regina wastes no time in dropping warm, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Emma’s thighs, sucks and nips at the tender skin there as Regina puts a hand on each of Emma’s knees, pushing them apart. Spreading her open.

A small, wanton noise alerts Emma to the fact that Regina’s eyes are now settled on her, gaze latched on to Emma’s cunt.

There’s no time to feel self-conscious before Regina leans in, mouth fastening on Emma, hot and firm and so, _so_ -

Regina licks at the length of her in one stroke.

Emma gasps - _loudly_ \- her head slamming back into the mattress.

“ _Oh_.”

She doesn't quite hear Regina’s answering chuckle so much as she can feel it, sending vibrations all the way down Emma’s groin. She has to clasp the bed sheets between her fists to keep herself from bucking into Regina’s face, but then Regina's mouth is on her again, using her lips at first to deposit gentle kisses down her slit. Runs her tongue back and forth between Emma’s folds, licking into her, lapping at her entrance. Working her tongue _deep_.

Emma doesn’t recognize her own strangled moan, or the jerk of her own hips when Regina uses her thumbs to spread her open, the feeling of Regina’s tongue inside her wet and _perfect_.

And Regina hums - _god,_ she actually hums, as if _savoring_ Emma’s taste.

“Regina _,_ ” Emma says, voice high and feeble. She doesn’t care if she sounds like she’s begging.

Emma will gladly beg.

Soon Emma’s hips are circling, grinding into Regina’s face and the tension at the base of Emma’s spine is coiling. Arms wrap around Emma’s thighs, anchoring her down, and Emma thinks she might cry when Regina flicks her tongue over her clit.

Once. Twice.

“ _God_ , I’m -”

The words are lodged in Emma’s throat. She arches into Regina, tries to find some pressure against Regina’s tongue. She rakes her nails against Regina’s scalp, urging her to do something. _Anything_.

Their eyes meet over the expanse of Emma’s torso through the no-so-subtle gesture. The heat of Regina’s stare is almost enough to unravel Emma altogether. It sears through Emma, leaving her panting and trembling.

 _Begging_.

“Regina, please. Just - _fuck_.”

She’s _so close_. She’s -

As soon as Regina’s lips wrap around Emma’s clit, she gives it a slow suction, rubbing tight circles over it with her tongue. And Emma is gone.

Her hands tangle in Regina’s hair, body seizing, walls clenching around nothing. All it takes is for Emma to find Regina’s dark eyes boring into her before she’s coming, shuddering over the wave of pleasure with a broken cry.

Regina doesn’t relent. Her tongue continues to run lazy circles over Emma’s clit, lapping at the slick mess Emma is sure is pooled between her thighs. When even that becomes too much, Emma pushes lightly at Regina’s shoulders.

“I just need a minute,” Emma explains. She feels like she’d just run a marathon when all she did was fucking lay there. “Just - how are you so good at that?”

Regina laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes Emma surge with affection. The heavy feeling in her chest only seems to grow as she watches Regina crawl up her body, hair in disarray, lips and chin glistening with Emma’s arousal.

“I have my ways,” Regina says, wasting no time in straddling Emma’s thighs. “I simply think of you. Losing control.”

At that, she brings Emma’s mouth to hers, lips parting over the sweep of her tongue and Emma shivers. She can taste herself in it.

“Biting back your screams,” Regina continues and starts nibbling along the edge of Emma’s jaw.

She reaches out to sweep a thumb over Emma’s nipple, outlines it with just the tip of her finger in one slow, torturous motion before replacing it with her palm. She gives Emma’s breast a firm squeeze.

“Tasting you until you unravel.”

Emma expels a ragged breath, one she doesn’t bother holding in when the ache between her thighs intensifies. At this rate she’s going to come a second time.

A total disgrace when she knows Regina deserves three times that many.

It’s like coming up for her first breath of air - Emma leans in to slant their mouths together. One hand slides over the nape of Regina’s neck, the other growing restless at her hip. It follows a path down to Regina’s ass before Emma pulls her flush against her body.

At the press of skin against skin, Regina moans, licks into the hot space of Emma’s mouth.

Emma takes the opportunity to explore, hands following the notches of Regina’s spine, over her hip bones, down the backs of her thighs.

Regina releases a shaky exhale against Emma’s mouth. Emma sucks on Regina’s bottom lip between her own, letting it go with a little nip.

As the kiss deepens, moving slower, more _obscene_ , Emma fits her palms around Regina’s breasts. Regina moans again, heavy into her mouth as Emma thumbs over her nipples, and Emma feels the goosebumps on her skin rise up when Regina grinds into her.

The wet slide of Regina’s cunt against her skin makes Emma dizzy with want.

Her hands go still. Emma can feel the protest in the way Regina sucks on her bottom lip, rolls her hips against Emma’s thigh at a frenzied pace.

“Emma,” Regina sighs in frustration. Or maybe it’s total delirium.

Both?

Emma thinks it’s definitely a combination of the two when Regina takes Emma’s hands to put them firmly on her ass.

“Touch me. Now.”

Emma is all too willing to oblige.

“Should’ve known you’d be bossy in bed, too,” she snickers, ducking to take Regina’s nipple into her mouth.

The startled little gasp Regina lets out has heat flooding Emma’s body. She laps at the hardened tip of her nipple, runs her tongue around the edge. Lightly scrapes it with her teeth.

“I’m also open to suggestions,” Emma offers.

Because Regina is shuddering now, rocking jerkily into Emma’s lap and Emma has little to no restraint left. Regina’s chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time Emma’s mouth closes around her other nipple, sucking and licking and kissing - Emma _almost_ doesn’t notice the whiff of magic in the air.

It’s hard _not_ to notice. She topples backward in surprise, casting a glance at the harness now surrounding her hips.

Emma blinks.

“Did you just… _magic_ a strap-on into existence?” Emma blurts, unable to tear her eyes away from the purple, phallus-looking thing protruding from her crotch.

She has to remind herself that it’s a dildo. Regina magicked a dildo of all things.

On _her_.

“Of course not. It was already in my dresser,” Regina states, staring at Emma as if her idiocy knows no bounds. “You said you were open to suggestions.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean -” Emma trails off.

She remembers then, their phone conversation just weeks prior, after Emma had gone on a rampage over the dirty dreams she’s had. She never thought they’d be anything more than a fantasy, some sort of sick mind game that showed her everything she could never have.

Now Emma is living in it. There’s an expression on Regina’s face that is unreadable. Her eyes are dark and engorged with desire, but there’s something else there that knocks the wind out of Emma. Makes the prickling heat beneath her skin go up in flames.

“Well?” Regina says, impatient now. “Emma.”

It’s the way Regina’s voice cracks at her name, the desperate, wanting edge to it that causes something in Emma to snap.

She flips them over and pushes Regina on her back, flat against the mattress, pinning her arms above her head.

Regina huffs in surprise.

She looks up at Emma, astonished, fingers coming up to rest over Emma’s shoulder. Emma figures she’s done something right when Regina immediately wraps her legs around her waist.

“Oh,” Regina says on a shaky exhalation. She drives her hips upward, sealing the distance between them, and Emma can practically feel the tip grazing against Regina’s entrance.

Emma swallows. “Does that feel good?”

“I think it would feel better if you put it inside.”

The reply is no less snarky than what Emma would expect. She bites back a smile, ducks low to brush her lips over Regina’s temple (which feels scarily romantic, but Emma’s fucked up one too many times to care at this point) and wraps her hand around the dildo. Lines it up with Regina’s opening.

The first push has Regina arching into it, sinking against Emma with a choked sound. Slowly, Emma edges in deeper, relishing in the smooth glide it takes until their pelvises meet. By the time Emma is sure she’s buried fully inside, Regina is panting beneath her.

A soft growl of “Emma” has her smothering another smile against Regina’s skin.

“Is this okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Regina insists, reaching out to tuck Emma’s hair behind her ears. “I like it rough.”

Yeah. No kidding.

And she’s yanking Emma back in for a fierce kiss.

The press of her nipples against Regina’s, the crush of their breasts, has Emma stifling a groan into Regina’s mouth. She plants a hand on the mattress just above Regina’s head, withdrawing almost fully before thrusting back in.

Regina hisses into the swell of Emma’s lips. The headboard slams into the wall, and for a second Emma thinks she might’ve broken it.

“Go on,” Regina urges in a scratchy whisper, dragging her mouth over the curve of Emma’s jaw. “Fuck me.”

That’s all the incentive Emma needs. By the third pump, Regina digs her nails into Emma’s shoulder blades, slides them all the way down to her backside, urging her in deeper, her moan muffled by the fuse of their mouths. Emma settles for a quicker pace after that, savoring every little sound Regina makes over the slick noises of their bodies connecting. It’s an easy glide in and out that makes Emma feel hot and tingly all over.

Regina spreads her thighs even wider, rocks her hips up in time to meet Emma’s thrusts. Their mouths remain locked, kisses becoming more heated, urgent, while the bed creaks beneath them and Emma wants to thank whatever holy entity there is that Henry isn’t home to witness this.

It’s when Emma reaches between their bodies, pressing her fingertips against Regina’s clit that Regina breaks their kiss.

She does it by arching into the touch, gasping. Her head tips back. Emma trails her lips down Regina’s throat, mouths at her jaw, her chin. She keeps a steady rhythm, working her fingers in tight circles around Regina’s clit.

Clamping a hand over the back of Emma’s neck, Regina tugs her in closer, breaking out into a near sob.

“ _Emma_ .” Regina bucks her pelvis up, _up_ . Rolls into her. “Emma, _please_.”

And everything inside Emma just… bursts.

It erupts in an overpowering wave of _affection_. The warmth of Regina’s skin, the rapid thud of her heartbeat, the way she holds onto Emma, unguarded and pleading and so fucking beautiful.

It doesn’t register at first that Emma’s mumbled something into the crook of Regina’s neck, not until she says it a second time, more clearly now: “I love you.”

Emma’s heart seizes violently, but she runs with it. There’s no going back now.

She scrapes her teeth over Regina’s pulse point, feeling it accelerate against her tongue.

“I love you.”

She mouths the words again into Regina’s sweat-slick skin. Nuzzles the spot behind Regina’s earlobe.

“I thought you should know.”

It’s with a final jut of her pelvis, a firm brush of her thumb against Regina’s clit - and Regina is bucking her hips, her whole body tensing as she smothers her cry into Emma’s shoulder. Her hands remain clenched around Emma’s hair, holding her still. She can still feel Regina’s heartbeat racing against her skin.

Emma moves to slip out, but then Regina sits up abruptly, draws Emma’s head up and cradles it gently between her hands. She latches onto Emma’s gaze in quiet wonder.

“What did you just say?” Regina whispers.

Emma doesn’t dare to breathe, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s having respiratory issues right now. Her eyes begin to mist over and she wills herself to hold it together.

“I love you,” Emma says. Exhales it out in a sort of choked whisper. “I think I have for a long time. I’m sorry for making you think I was using a potion to do any of this. I never meant -”

She stops short when Regina reaches out with her thumb, swipes a tear from Emma’s cheek.

The gesture itself is so tender, Emma has to hold in a sob. But it breaks free anyway when she lifts her gaze up.

Because Regina’s looking at Emma like she’s everything.  

Emma doesn’t bother suppressing the flow of tears now. “Regina…”

“Say it again,” Regina tells her, her own red-rimmed eyes following the wet streaks as she cups Emma’s face.

There’s no hesitation this time around.

“I love you.”

The slow, radiant smile that spreads across Regina’s face surges through Emma, and Regina responds with a watery laugh.

“Again.”

“Okay, now I’m confused. What does this even -”

Emma’s cut off by the crush of Regina’s mouth against hers. The ferocity of it has Emma staggering back into the bed, but she props a hand onto the mattress, sliding her fingers around Regina’s nape and angling in deeper.

There’s something different about this kiss. Whether it’s the post-orgasm aspect of it, or because saying her feelings out loud is so fucking liberating, either way Regina is kissing her like it’s something magical.

Regina pulls away to dot kisses along Emma’s cheek, along her tear tracks, before sinking back into Emma’s mouth. Brushes her tongue over Emma’s parted lips. The salty aftertaste has Emma melting into her.

“Lie back,” Regina murmurs and begins untying the straps around Emma’s hips. “I’d rather be tasting all of you.”

In light of Emma’s speechlessness, the rush of happiness dwindles a little.

“Do you…” Emma’s throat constricts. She hates the vulnerability building inside her, but she has to know. Her voice is small and unsure when she asks -

“I mean. Do you love me, too?”

Regina halts her movement to stare at her, and Emma can’t pinpoint exactly what she’s seeing, but there’s more warmth and fondness in that gaze than she knew was possible.

“Emma,” Regina breathes out and guides Emma onto her back, leaning in to plant kisses across her jaw, down her neckline. “You’re an idiot.”

There’s an underlying tone of affection in the words, but it still leaves Emma confused. “What -”

“I loved you from the start.”

Before Emma can respond, two of Regina’s fingers are sliding between her thighs, pressing into the wetness pooled at her opening. Emma arches into them, releases a guttural moan -

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night.

.

.

“You know what’s another good one?” Emma suggests, pushing aside a strand of dark hair from Regina’s shoulder. She lets the touch linger and leans over to kiss the skin there, because apparently an entire night of mindblowing sex makes her more of a lovesick moron.

“Darling. You should call me that more often. It’s nice,” Emma admits and smiles when Regina’s only response is a silent chuckle that vibrates through the bedsheets.

Sunlight filters in through the window, over the thick sheet of snow that had piled on from the night before. Snowflakes continue to trickle in from over the tops of the trees outside. A glance at the alarm clock by Regina’s side indicates that they don’t have much time before they have to get up. But Emma’s reluctant to leave this bubble of contentment, with Regina glued to her side and drawing senseless patterns over Emma’s stomach.

“I don’t remember ever calling you that,” Regina murmurs and stills her fingers.

“You did. Once,” Emma says, flushing at the memory. “Not that it can ever replace Miss Swan. Or idiot.”

“Oh shut up,” Regina says and swats at her lightheartedly. “I suppose I can make some adjustments.”

Emma pauses, uncertain.

“You don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

But Regina is already leaning on one elbow, her fingers skirting across Emma’s jawline, coaxing her to look up. Emma does, and it’s insane how quickly her body comes alive when Regina connects their lips for a leisurely kiss.

“Darling,” Regina says over their parted lips, scarcely more than a whisper. The sound of it sends a bolt of electricity down Emma’s spine.

Emma kisses her again, slowly. Deeply. But it goes on and on until Emma has to break away for air.

“Say it again.”

Regina laughs huskily into her mouth, focuses on the brush of her thumb over Emma’s cheekbone. “Darling.”

“One more time?”

Emma doesn’t think she could ever get tired of hearing Regina’s laughter, of the way it warms her to her bone. Rather than the sarcastic remark Emma half expects, Regina’s laughter gradually fades, the smile on her face ebbing into something more serious.

“I love you,” she says quietly, her hand framing Emma’s face as she studies her. “How is that for a repeat?”

Honestly?

Emma stares, heart pounding in her throat.

“I think… I really like that.”

Emma could melt on the spot when Regina smiles at her, the sort of soft, heartfelt smile that makes the world around them stop. As fucking sappy as it sounds, the world may as well have.

Before Emma can utter another word, the door slams open downstairs and Henry’s voice echoes over the walls -

“Moms, get up! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Well. There goes the bubble of contentment.

“How the hell did we raise such a little cockblock?” Emma mutters.

Regina gives her a stern look. “Don't call him that.”

“Well it's true. I -” Emma hesitates, eyes zeroing in on the door with growing dread. “We didn't lock the door.”

“What?”

Emma hurriedly scrambles to get off the bed. “We didn't -”

But it's too late. The bedroom door swings open - revealing Zelena, who’s hoisting Robyn in one arm while dressed in the raunchiest-looking Mrs. Claus outfit.

Emma doesn't have the presence of mind to cover her bare ass. She yelps, grapples for the comforter.

And then topples right off the bed.

Zelena stops dead at the threshold.

“I see you fucked my sister.”

To her credit, Regina looks only mildly annoyed. She holds the sheets up to her chest (now Emma realizes why she couldn’t get a grasp on the covers. Regina’s a fucking sheet-hogger) and sighs.

“Zelena. Do you mind?”

“I do, actually. I didn’t come all this way to look at your girlfriend’s naked arse,” Zelena sniffs, but nonetheless offers them some version of a self-satisfied smirk. “Robyn wants a flatcake.”

“A what?”

“A flatcake. The thing you serve on a pan.”

Regina rubs her temple. “It’s called a - you know what? Never mind. We’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine. In the meantime.” Out of nowhere, Zelena tosses a bottle of Febreze at the bed with a chipper, “Merry Christmas. It smells like a bloody brothel in here.”

With that, she shuts the door.

Emma has no idea what to do with herself in the several seconds of silence that follow afterward.

Eventually Regina has to tell her, “You know you can come out now.”

Reluctantly, Emma clambers back onto the bed. Regina is watching her with a strange expression on her face, before slowly stating -

“Don't tell me she's finally scared you off after walking in on us.”

“It's not that,” Emma says. And it's true, though she'd rather have to never suffer through another Zelena moment _ever_ again. “It's just…”

Regina waits, eyes patient as she silently wills Emma to finish.

Fuck it. Clearly communication’s the key.

“She called me your girlfriend.”

Regina seems taken aback, and she pushes forward with a casual, “Yes… And?”

The relief that floods through Emma is palpable. She scoots in close, sucks in a laugh when Regina’s gaze drops down to her chest in blatant appraisal.

“I don't know,” Emma murmurs over a fleeting brush of their lips. She feels Regina's breath of anticipation. “I figured girlfriend would be too juvenile for your tastes. Maybe partner? Or ‘beautiful beloved’?”

A huff of laughter. “Don’t push it,” Regina says. “We’re not turning into your parents.”

Emma snorts. “What? No happy ending then? Happy beginnings?”

Regina brings a hand to Emma’s cheek, her eyes slowly tracing Emma’s face in what looks to be total adoration. And maybe it _is_ making Emma a sentimental dumbass, but sitting here now, in the wake of godawful Christmas music seeping through the walls and more potential family catastrophes, she wouldn’t trade the moment for anything.

Regina noses along Emma’s jaw, hovers over her mouth for a second and right before surging in for another kiss -

“I like to call it a second chance,” she says.

And Emma, you ask?

Emma’s more than okay with that.

 


End file.
